


All It Takes Is a Spark

by impalagirl, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [28]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emissary!Stiles, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hate Sex, M/M, Magic!Stiles, but he's not the Derek from the show, hippie!derek, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalagirl/pseuds/impalagirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA That one where Derek is a hippie and more like Tyler Hoechlin than the sourwolf we all know and love, and Stiles is a badass emissary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All It Takes Is a Spark

Stiles is hot. Too hot. That's all he can think about as he sits at the end of the centre row at the goddamn Annual Werewolf Symposium and sweats through his plaid overshirt. Naturally the year that Scott decides to insist that a representative of the McCall pack finally attend the Symposium, it has to be held in the middle of fucking Oregon at the height of summer. 'Symposium' is a stupid name for it, too; from what he's seen so far, this is less like a conference and more like a day-trip to a hippie commune. Stiles is roasting alive, and he's also bored out of his mind. Scott made him promise to layer up and keep his tattoos hidden, but right now he's considering showing some skin. Not only would it give him the chance to find some relief from this god-awful heat, but it might actually liven things up a bit in here. See, his tattoos aren't what even a room full of shapeshifters would call normal. For one, they _move_.

He's very seriously contemplating it when the current speaker finishes with a final shuffle of his notes, causing an annoying crackle of feedback from the microphone mounted to the podium that's been holding him up. Stiles hasn't got a clue what he's been talking about for the last half hour, but he's ancient; he hasn't even left the stage before the next speaker comes on, and _oh_. There's no way in hell that even Stiles could daydream up an ass that good. The guy has completely bypassed the podium in favour of positioning a chair in the middle of the stage that he can sit on - _backwards_ , holy god - to address the crowd. His hair is kind of longish and pushed back surfer-style and he's got a full beard, and Stiles sincerely hopes that he isn't going to turn out to be some kind of peace-and-love advocate because Stiles would very much like to get all up on that later tonight.

Of course, it all comes crashing down when the beautiful asshole opens his mouth.

 _You can do this_ , Derek reminds himself for the millionth time in the last hour. _You can do this_. "So, I'm sure you've all taken at least a glance through the schedule today, so you probably know what I'm up here blabbering on about. This is an idea that's been tossed around and informally implemented for generations, but now the Hale pack is officially moving to establish a help system for weres, especially those newly-bitten. There have been too many cases of weres not being able to control themselves and being put down by hunters without being given a chance. What we propose-- and this only a preliminary outline-- is that each pack keeps an eye on as much of the area surrounding their official territory as they can, and if any humans are bitten and turned, then they extend a helping hand."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "What bullshit," he mutters.

Derek's hearing picks up on the mutter from the crowd, but he ignores it in favor of continuing his speech. "There has been an increasing number of incidents that end with turned humans in recent years; most times, they're turned in the dead of night and left drifting. We can't rely on the hunters to help with this, because as we all know, while hunters claim to have a code, too many of them stray. So we must band together and take care of one another."

"Give me strength," Stiles scoffs.

Okay that’s a bit more rudeness than he’s willing to tolerate. "Do you have a problem?" Derek asks, zeroing in on the man who'd spoken both times. "Or a question?"

Stiles sighs. "A question," he decides, because Scott will never forgive him if he gets kicked out. "This is all well and good in theory, but have you tried putting it into practice?"

"It has been informally implemented all across the United States for years," Derek answers. "With varying degrees of success, but that is largely owing to the fact that there is no system whatsoever in place."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. " _Varying degrees of success_ ," he repeats sceptically. "Do you have any examples of times when it _has_ been successful?"

"The Mason pack, three years ago," Derek answers instantly. "A rogue skinwalker changed a young girl in a town just outside of their territory; they found her and helped her control her abilities before hunters arrived. Five years ago, the Vorghes clan put down a rogue werewolf who changed a young boy, twelve years old; they took him in, taught him, and informed his family of what happened. Six months ago, a coven of witches near Baltimore took in a banshee whose powers had been activated by the Boston Marathon bombing."

Stiles sighs. "Great," he says. "And what about all of the instances where it doesn't work? What is to become of the shifters who are left to fend for themselves?"

"That's what this system is for," Derek explains. "To bring that number down, and to create a support system for those who live too far from any established pack."

"And where was your support system five years ago?" Stiles demands.

Derek looks at the-- human? Emissary, perhaps-- in surprise. "What I am here to do is propose this system for implementation by the Northwest Convention. There is no official support system yet."

"And what about once there is?" Stiles asks. "How do you propose to implement and monitor the system? What about, for example, the werewolves who were bitten and went unchecked prior to its introduction?"

"Perhaps they could join with another pack-- be rehabilitated, so to speak."

"Even if they've already formed a pack?" Stiles asks sharply.

"Are you asking from experience, or is this all hypothetical?" Derek shoots back, beginning to feel a bit annoyed by trying to tamp it down. "Either way, these things would most likely be taken on a case by case basis, and looked at individually."

”So you'd disrupt werewolves' lives, just to balance your own statistics?" Stiles asks, completely ignoring Derek's first question. "Where is your authority to do that? Who gives you the right to implement any of this?"

”You seem to be laboring under the impression that I personally will be doing this," Derek answers, striving for calm. " _If_ my pack's idea is accepted, it will be looked over and refined by the Council of the Supernatural as a whole, and _they_ will implement it."

"That's bullshit," Stiles insists. "The Council is mediocre at best and does not have the will or the capacity to pull off something like that on such a grand scale. They already have a system in place to help any supernatural creatures who actively reach out to them, _supposedly_. What makes you confident that they'll be any better at managing your system?"

"Because I intend to propose that this be run through several smaller divisions through the country," Derek snaps, losing his cool and glaring at the interloper. "Yes, I realize this is too large to be handled solely by the Council, which does have some problems as you've pointed out. Therefore I would rather trust this to people who can be counted upon to do what is best for the supernatural community as a whole."

"And let me guess," Stiles says nastily. "You and your pack are counted among that number."

"If everyone is agreeable," Derek concedes. "We are one of the largest packs in the Northwestern United States, and we have many allies throughout this half of the country."

Stiles snorts. "Right, okay," he says. "Well, if it's all the same to you, my pack _won't_ be participating."

"No one is forcing anyone to participate," Derek points out, confused. "This is completely voluntary, and also still hypothetical as it has not been presented formally to the Council."

Stiles gives Derek a snide smile. "Well, good luck with that."

* * *

Derek's talk wraps shortly after that, but he hangs around and listens to the rest; some have good ideas, some are clearly rip-offs, and others are just plain ridiculous-- but no matter what, that kid always pipes up and draws the talker into an argument. Derek's starting to wonder if maybe he just came here to be a troll. After the discussion panel is done, Derek finds himself hanging around the exit, waiting to catch a glimpse of the kid; he's not quite sure why, he just knows that the kid intrigues him. Derek doesn't think he's a wolf, so maybe he's an emissary? He spots the distinctive plaid overshirt and muscles his way through the crowd to the other man before he loses sight of him. "Hey," he calls when he's close enough. "Wait up a second, please."

Stiles turns on the spot, surprised that someone is addressing him, but his expression quickly changes to a smirk when he sees just who is moving towards him. "What, didn't I thrash you hard enough the first time? You want some more?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "Just wondering if you were hired to be a professional troll," he retorts. "Why did you even come here if you're not going to keep an open mind?"

Stiles shrugs. "I'm open minded," he says. "I'm just realistic, a quality that most of you guys are sorely lacking in. Trust me, I wouldn't be here if I had any say in the matter."

"Sure don't seem open-minded to me," Derek comments. "Why don't you have a say in the matter? Why didn't your alpha come if you're so opposed to this?"

"My alpha is busy," Stiles answers, "y'know, with alpha stuff? The same reason that your alpha sent you." Of course Stiles has no real idea what kind of wolf this guy is, but he's willing to put money on the fact that he's just a beta - the alpha's second, at a push. "As the pack's emissary and the alpha's best friend slash advisor, I was the best option to act as a representative." The smirk that hasn't quite left his face yet deepens. "Plus, I know my shit."

Derek tilts his head, conceding the point. "Which pack are you from? I've never seen you here before, and I've been coming for almost ten years now."

Stiles straightens himself up to his full height, levels the guy with a hard look. "The McCall pack."

Derek blinks. He's heard talk about the McCall pack, of course: based in Beacon Hills, the alpha is a true alpha, bitten by a rogue alpha who was killed by the alpha's emissary-- who must be the kid in front of him. There's a lot of wild rumors floating around, such as the alpha enslaving a kanima, enchanting a banshee, and stealing the heir to the Argent line, but Derek doesn't put too much stock in rumors.

Realizing he hasn't answered, Derek holds out a polite hand. "Derek Hale; the Hale pack."

Stiles takes the hand and gives it a firm shake, looking Derek up and down. "Well, _Mr. Hale_ , I'm told there's a bar in this place. How about you buy me a drink, and I tell you all the other reasons your proposal is bullshit?"

"How about a name first?" Derek counters with a slight smirk.

Stiles inclines his head. "It's Stiles."

"Well, Stiles--" What the hell kind of name was 'Stiles'? "-- I'll buy you that drink."

* * *

After one of the simultaneously most entertaining yet most frustrating hours of his life, Derek heads back to the hotel room he shares with his twin. Laura's already back from her own discussion panel, and Derek flops on the bed, groaning quietly. He turns his head to look at Laura and offers her a smile. "How'd your panel go?"

"It went fine," Laura says breezily. "But don't try to distract me. I saw you heading off to the bar with a cute boy right before I went on. I'm guessing it didn't go well? Or is the frustration coming off you in waves of the sexual variety?"

Derek scowls at her but doesn't bother trying to deny it; it never works well with Laura, he's found. "Both, I guess?" he says after a moment. "I mean, he's smart, and cute, and I think interested? But he's also a bit of a dick. He kept playing devil's advocate for every single speaker at my panel."

Laura's eyes widen. "Oh, it was _him_? He was all Jaime could talk about when she finished her panel right after yours; she was saying that you must've gotten him all riled up." She smirked. "Did you get a name?"

"Stiles," Derek answers. "From the McCall pack."

"The McCall pack?" Laura asks sharply. "Derek, are you crazy?"

"Maybe?" Derek asks weakly, flinching from Laura's tone. "I know the rumors, Laur, but... He's interesting. Devoted, obviously, and fierce. I just want to get to know him a bit better. Besides, I won't see him after the Symposium; the McCall pack is in California and we're in Washington, remember?"

Laura purses her lips, clearly unconvinced. "Just be careful," she says at last. "That pack, they're _wild_ , and that makes them dangerous. I heard their emissary killed a nogitsune with his bare hands."

Derek's heard that rumor, too. "I know, Laur," he says reassuringly. "I'm not going to get in over my head."

* * *

Stiles makes much the same promise when he gets back to his own room and calls Scott, and he intends to keep it; he doesn't need the alpha to remind him that the Hales are one of the most influential packs in the country and could be very dangerous to a smaller and less-than-ideal pack like theirs. Still, that promise is all but forgotten two days later when Derek is in his room and they're screaming at each other. They've both had quite a bit to drink, Derek's beers spiked with wolfsbane thanks to the bartender - the bartender who threw them out when it was time for him to close up, and Stiles should have been smart enough to call it a night and take Derek up on his stupid policies tomorrow, but no. Stiles had to invite Derek up to his room so that they could continue their argument, and now Stiles can't even remember what they're arguing about, he's just _pissed_ and Derek is _dumb_ and also kind of pretty.

"And another thing!" Stiles yells, only vaguely aware that the nice people in the room next door have probably called the front desk to complain about them by now. "You can't just... you can't just _vet_ potential pack members! What are you gonna do, run a background check? Give them a written exam? If they need help, they need help, and you should give it to them regardless of the fact that they used to be a massive asshole or are related to a bunch of murderers or whatever. That's just stupid!"

"No, it's common sense," Derek argues, his tongue feeling a bit too thick. "You can't just let anyone in-- you need to make sure they're gonna be good for your pack, and that you'll be good for them. If you let just anyone in then that could cause long-term problems!"

"Obviously you have to get to know them first, that's not what I'm saying!" Stiles cries, frustrated. "That's not what _you're_ saying. You specifically said that you have to vet potential pack members!" Did he? Or was that what Stiles said? He can't remember. "And that's not fair! We have people in our pack that we, we _helped_ because _they_ needed it, not because of who they were or what they'd done in the past. Pack is about _family_ , and family is about not judging! Or, maybe it is about judging, but the helpful judging! Not the kind that says 'Oh, you did a bad thing once so you can't be part of us anymore!'"

"No one is considered for a pack member until we get to know them, that's the whole _point_ ," Derek shouts, dimly aware of the fact that he's acting irrational and should walk away considering the wolfsbane-infused alcohol that's still burning through his veins. "We get to know them, we become friends, and if they want to be a pack member then we look into how they would work as family! Pack is the family you _choose_!"

"So how do you choose them?" Stiles demands, taking a few dangerous steps closer to Derek. "What _criteria_ do they have to meet for you to judge them _suitable_?"

"For one thing, they have to be reasonable," Derek snaps, mirroring Stiles's movement. "They need to be able to listen to all sides of a situation and judge accordingly. They need to be amenable to sharing some of their resources with the rest of the pack. They need to bring something to the pack, something the pack is missing already, and the pack must be able to help them in some way."

Stiles is so beyond conceding that these are actually decent points, mostly because Derek is right up in his space now, so close that he can see his own reflection in Derek's eyes, and that fact is, for some reason, _infuriating_. "Oh, okay, so if they're not going to _work_ for you," he snarls, deliberately misunderstanding Derek's argument, "if they're not going to be of some _use_ to you, they're not worth jack shit?"

"That's not what I said and you know it," Derek growls, using his bulk to his advantage and getting even closer to Stiles, close enough that only the breadth of a sheet of paper separates them. "Your pack is probably so unstable it'll fall apart any second because you're just a ragtag bunch of creatures only trying to survive, not _live_."

Stiles sputters with rage. "Oh yeah?" he yells, magic surging through him. He fists his hands in Derek's shirt to hide the way it's crackling around his fingers, and feels the fabric start to singe beneath them. "Say that again, you son of a bitch!"

Derek can smell the magic in the air; it smells like ozone, like the split second before lightning strikes, but that doesn't stop him. "You're not a pack," he hisses. "You're a ragtag bunch of _idiots_."

Where Stiles is touching it, the fabric of Derek's shirt melts away. "Why do you have to be better than everyone?" Stiles demands. "You're such a _jerk_!"

"And you're-- you're _irresponsible_!"

That is perhaps the worst insult that Stiles has ever heard, but it riles him up anyway. Again, he feels something rising within him, a force that is utterly unstoppable and devastating in its fury, and Stiles half-expects Derek to be blasted from the face of the earth. Instead, with a final growl of frustration, Stiles uses the hold he still has on Derek's shirt to yank him forwards and crash their mouths together.

Derek is surprised by the kiss-- who wouldn't be?-- but he gives as good as he gets, grabbing handfuls of Stiles's shirt and using it to push the emissary back until his back hit the wall, Derek crowding him up against it and kissing him hard enough to bruise.

Stiles moans into Derek's mouth, and instantly hates himself for it. If they're going to do this, they're going to do this on _his_ terms. With a snarl he pushes Derek's hands away from him and shoves him backwards until he topples onto the bed, following moments later to reclaim Derek's mouth. Over their heads, the lights give out with a _pop_.

* * *

The next morning, Derek tries sneaking back into his hotel room-- but he forgets one crucial thing:

Laura.

So when the lights click on to reveal Laura sitting in the chair in a nightgown with a raised eyebrow, Derek freezes like a deer in the headlights. "Hi?" he hazards after a long, tense moment.

"You've had sex," she says, because boundaries do not exist between twins who are also werewolves. "Please tell me that isn't the McCall pack's emissary I can smell all over you."

Derek knows she’ll hear the lie, but he tries anyway. "It isn't."

Laura arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Do you want to try that again?"

Derek slumps, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It was stupid, I know."

"No, Derek, I don't think you do know," Laura says, getting to her feet. "How many times have I told you that he's _dangerous_? God knows what he could do to you if you really piss him off, to the whole pack! What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't!" Derek snaps, glaring at his twin. "It just happened, okay? We got into an argument, we were both tipsy and shit happened!"

Laura sighs. "Derek, you should know better," she says. "I'm telling Mom."

"No, don't!" Derek yelps. "C'mon, Laur; tomorrow-- _today_ is the last day of the symposium. It's not like I'll ever see him after this, and we both know it."

"That's not an excuse to act so irresponsibly!" Laura insists. "You have to stop thinking with your dick."

"I said I know it was stupid!" Derek protests. "And you're a fucking hypocrite; I know full well you've had one night stands with people from other packs before."

"Not the McCall pack! People from happy, stable packs that are our allies and are not in any way dangerous. Everything that Stiles is not."

"Stiles is protective of his pack, and _that_ is when he's dangerous," Derek argues. "Me sleeping with him _once_ does not threaten his pack!"

"It doesn't matter!" Laura snaps. "Look, just stay away from him, okay? _Do not_ see him again."

"For Christ's sake, Laura, did you _not_ hear me earlier?" Derek snaps, glaring. "We live in fucking _Washington_ , and his pack is in _California_!"

"I meant while we're still here," Laura snarls. "I mean it. Stay away from him."

"For fuck's sake, fine!" Derek snarls back, eyes flashing. "If it'll get you to fucking back off and quit treating me like a goddamned _toddler_ then fine!"

Laura flashes her eyes right back, refusing to be cowed. She's the oldest by only a handful of minutes, but it still means that she outranks Derek in the pack. "I'm going for a shower," she tells him. "If you're ready to stop acting like a child, we can go get some breakfast when I'm done." She disappears into the adjoining bathroom before Derek has a chance to respond.

* * *

Derek only sees Stiles once the next day, and it's incredibly awkward; they make eye contact and Derek's not sure what the expression on Stiles's face means, but he's the first to break the gaze and look away.

He thinks that's the last he hears of Stiles, but unfortunately about two weeks after they get back from the symposium, Talia drops a bombshell on him.

"I'm sorry, you want me to _what_?" Derek asks incredulously.

Talia regards her son with a placid sort of smile. "I want you to go to California," she repeats patiently, "and help the McCall pack get properly established."

Derek hasn't misheard his alpha, then. "Why me?" he asks, confused. 

Talia's gaze slides briefly to Laura. "I've heard that you've already made connections with some members of the pack," she answers. "Better that they have a familiar face to deal with."

"You mean Laura told you I fucked their emissary," Derek says flatly, glaring at Laura. "Did she also tell you that Stiles and I did _not_ get along during the symposium?"

Talia's smile widens. "Then at least you'll have a lot to talk about," she says. "I'm not changing my mind, Derek."

Derek grumbles, but knows arguing is fruitless. "Fine."

"Then it's settled," Talia says smugly. "I'll make all of the arrangements. You can leave sometime next week."

Derek inclines his head begrudgingly. "Of course, Mom."

* * *

Derek doesn't waste any time setting up a meeting with the alpha-- Scott McCall-- once he arrives in Beacon Hills; they agree to meet at the local diner. Scott had asked if it would be okay if he brought his emissary, and Derek had said that was fine with him; he'd have to see Stiles sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner.

Derek's the first one to the diner, and he finds a seat and orders while he waits for the other two to show up. When they do, Derek rises from his seat automatically, offering his hand for the alpha to shake and bearing his neck just slightly in a show of submission; he is, after all, the strange wolf here.

"I didn't believe it when Scott told me," Stiles says as he slides into a seat without waiting to see if Derek will offer his hand to him, too, "but here you are, as I live and breathe. I've gotta say, I'm impressed."

Scott's eyes widen. " _This_ is the one you slept with?" he demands, because of course Stiles didn't warn him earlier. Scott would probably have called the meeting off if he'd agreed to it at all, and then Stiles wouldn't get to hear whatever Derek's here to say. Where's the fun in that?

Stiles gives Derek a meaningful once-over. "Yep," he says, popping the P. "He's a lot prettier when he's naked, I promise."

Scott shakes his head, unnerved. "Whatever. We're here on official pack business so you can keep that kind of shit to yourself." Stiles smirks, mimes locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key, and Scott turns back to Derek. "I guess we'd better just get down to it. What is it that you're here to discuss?"

Derek decides to ignore Stiles for the moment besides an unimpressed look at his comment about Derek's appearance as he answers Scott. "My alpha sent me," he explains. "She... " Fuck, he knows what _Stiles's_ reaction to this will be, but he has no clue about Scott's. "She wants me to help you get 'properly established'."

Stiles wastes absolutely no time in exploding. "What the _fuck_?" he demands. "Properly established, my ass! You can tell your _alpha_ \--"

"Stiles, please," Scott cuts him off sharply, hand raised and everything. Stiles stops talking in a show of obedience that's actually quite surprising, but he doesn't try to hide his outrage. Again, Scott turns back to Derek, but even he looks troubled. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Derek, who'd opened his mouth to say something to Stiles, closes it when Scott holds up his hand. "For now, it just means me getting a feel for the town and how you're running your pack," he answers. "Then helping you establish connections, alliances, and giving you advice."

"We don't need your advice!" Stiles spits, furious. "Is this all a trial run for your little system, Derek? So you can prove that you can _rehabilitate_ feral packs, or put them down if they won't cooperate?"

This time, Scott doesn't silence Stiles. He's heard all about the proposal Derek put forward at the symposium, and he has to admit that he can understand why Stiles was such a dick about it. "Is it?" he prompts when Derek doesn't answer.

"Me coming here wasn't my idea," Derek says stiffly. "And 'putting down' feral packs was never part of my proposal, not unless they actively threatened innocent people. Either way, as far as I am aware, this is not, as you seem to think, a 'test run' for the proposal. This is my alpha taking an interest in your pack for reasons she has not deigned to share with me."

"Oh yeah, I bet it is," Stiles huffs, but this time Scott ignores him.

"I have to admit," he says carefully, "I feel like my pack has made a lot of progress without outside help. But as a new pack composed mainly of, I think Stiles said you called us ragtag idiots? There's only so much we can do for ourselves. So, you can stay, but I want your word that you'll leave if we ask you to."

Derek flushes. "I was out of line when I said that, and I apologize. And yes; that is reasonable."

Stiles seethes while Scott smiles. "In that case, welcome to Beacon Hills."

* * *

They arrange for Derek to come to the Preserve the next day to meet the pack - neutral territory and all that, or as close to it as they can get. That night, Scott calls the pack into a meeting and explains the situation. Some people, like Isaac and Erica, are as distrusting as Stiles is, but Allison and, most annoyingly, Lydia seem to share Scott's cautious optimism. They all agree to give Derek a fair chance, even if Stiles does so grudgingly, and head to the Preserve the following morning prepared to hear him out.

Scott heads up the introductions, each pack member in turn giving Derek a respectful nod, and Boyd even going so far as to shake Derek's hand. Stiles bristles the whole time, but keeps his mouth shut. With the formalities out of the way, Scott claps his hands together. "Okay. Derek, you said that you needed to know stuff about the pack. Does that mean you have questions?"

Derek nods respectfully to each member as they're introduced; he's intrigued to note that Lydia is a banshee and Kira is a kitsune. "Yes, I do," he answers, looking back to Scott. "I know you are the alpha, and Stiles is your emissary, but who is your second?"

Scott's eyes widen slightly, and Stiles is convinced he's about to blow it right here, but Lydia steps forward and saves them before Scott can admit that they don't have an official second. "That would be me," she says smartly.

Derek looks at Lydia assessingly. It's not uncommon to have a female second, but what he's more intrigued by is the fact that she's a banshee. "When did your powers manifest?" Derek asks curiously. There are conflicting myths about how a banshee first shows her powers, and what causes it.

Lydia's eyes narrow. "A few years ago," she answers.

Derek debates pushing for more information, but he's on shaky enough ground as it is. He nods to Lydia, then turns to Kira. "You're a kitsune, correct?"

Kira offers him a nervous smile. "That's right."

"Hm. How'd you get involved with the pack?" Derek asks curiously; foxes are usually solitary, and it's practically unheard of for them to join a pack.

"My mom moved us here for business," Kira answers carefully. "We crossed paths with the pack, and decided to stick around. They're good people."

Well that isn't a lie. Derek glances at the betas; there are four of them. "You bit them?" he asked, looking at Scott.

Scott nods, even as Stiles tenses.

"What does that matter?"

"I'm just gathering information," Derek explains. "Most of what is 'known' about your pack is wild speculation."

Stiles goes to say more, but Scott silences him with a look. "What more do you want to know?" he asks.

”For right now, I'm just observing," Derek answers. "So, if I have more questions, I'll let you know."

"Okay," Scott says. "Well, if that's everything, we were going to do a bit of training today."

"Which is all very boring and nothing you need to see," Stiles adds, forcing a smile.

"Every pack has different techniques," Derek counters, not looking at Stiles. "If you'd allow it, I would like to stay, Alpha McCall."

There's no way that Scott doesn't hear Stiles' incredulous mutter of _Alpha McCall?_ , but he ignores him again. "You can stay," he tells Derek. "But don't interfere."

Derek inclines his head respectfully. "Of course."

* * *

The training session goes off without a hitch, at least as far as Stiles is concerned. It seems like Derek never even blinks, and Stiles keeps expecting him to whip out a clipboard and start making notes; he bristles every time Derek shifts his weight, and both Derek and Scott notice. No one says anything, though, and Derek doesn't even offer Scott his thoughts when the session comes to an end. Stiles wants to offer his thoughts, though, and he heads straight to the station once Derek leaves.

It's embarrassingly easy to track him down, and an hour later Stiles is knocking on the door of the apartment Derek's renting, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits.

Derek hates that he already knows that it's Stiles standing outside of his door simply by the sound of his heartbeat. He opens the door and looks at Stiles with a raised eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Stiles snaps, pushing past Derek and into the apartment. "You can do us all a favour and tone it the fuck down. _Alpha McCall_? All you're going to gain by brown-nosing like that is a reputation for being a sad sack. It doesn't make you sound like you're here for any other reason than to lord it over us all." Derek frowns. "I addressed the alpha as I would any other," he protests, shutting the door behind Stiles. "I understand you are his emissary, and that your pack is... unique, but outside of Beacon Hills, there is a traditional way of addressing other members of a pack."

"That's bullshit," Stiles says. "I don't care what traditions you guys have, they don't belong with us. And neither do you."

"Just because you don't follow them doesn't mean I can’t," Derek snaps, his eyes narrowing. "I show respect to the alpha of the pack because they have earned their place in the pack. And until your alpha tells me to leave, I will stay and observe. You will not make me leave."

Stiles scoffs. "Please. You think you're here because _Scott_ said it was okay?" He laughs. "Scott is my friend and my alpha, and I'd follow him into hell if he asked me to. But I have the wards around this town etched into my bones, Derek. If I decided it was time for you to leave, you wouldn't have a choice."

"And you'd risk angering one of the most influential packs this side of the Plains?" Derek challenges. "We have allies throughout the country. You want a chance to prove unconventional packs are not inherently dangerous, that they don't need an extra close eye on them? Take it now. Because if you kick me out without reason, it won't matter what I say. Someone will decide you need to be watched, and someone will figure out a way around your wards if they decide you're dangerous enough.”

”You think I don't know that?" Stiles snarls. "Why do you think you're still standing here? I will _never_ put my pack in danger."

"Then why are you here?" Derek growls, stepping up in Stiles's space.

Stiles doesn't back down even an inch. "To let you know that the second I start seeing you as a real threat, you're gone," he answers. "And I'll take on your _mother_ and all of her friends by myself."

"Over-confident, aren't you?" Derek muses, frowning. "That's not good; it'll be your downfall."

"Well, it'll be yours, first," Stiles promises with a tight smile.

"Followed by the downfall of you and your entire pack," Derek counters. "Regardless of whatever you may think, I'm not here to destroy your pack. I'm here to observe, to get more information so that maybe what happened to your pack, to your home, can be prevented in the future."

"That's nothing to do with us," Stiles argues. "What _happened_ to my pack was that we had to learn to do everything by ourselves, and we did a damn good job of it. No one cared to help us when we needed it, so why should we care now that you need help from us?"

"Did you reach out to anyone?" Derek shoots back. "No one heard _anything_ about anything happening in Beacon Hills until an omega narrowly escaped being killed by a member of an alpha pack, and before anyone could actually do anything about it, we hear that the alpha pack has been killed and the emissary of the Beacon Hills pack killed a nogitsune."

Stiles doesn't flinch, but it's a near thing. "None of that is any of your business," he snarls.

"And you think other packs won't make it theirs?" Derek challenges. "Stiles, I know you don't like me, but let me observe. Let me get to know your pack; I have influence. I can help if it's needed and I know my alpha is always looking for new allies. If I can prove to her that your pack is worth it, then that will get you a lot of protection."

"We don't need protection," Stiles insists, magic surging to his fingertips in indignation. Normally he has better control than this, but something in Derek just riles him up beyond belief. "No one has dared to take us on for two years. Beacon Hills is protected, and not by a pack of _snobs_ thousands of miles away."

"And what happens when a different bunch of snobs decides you're dangerous? Those kinds of snobs will only listen to their own kind."

"I'm telling you, they won't get near us," Stiles says through gritted teeth.

"But what if they do?" Derek pushes. " _Nothing_ is foolproof, Stiles. You _always_ need a backup plan."

"And that’s what you are?" Stiles demands.

”Maybe! But you can't just decide to go it alone, because lone packs never make it," Derek argues hotly. "I don't have to be your backup plan, but _you_ need one. So quit being so fucking stubborn and open your damn mind!"

"So now I'm closed-minded," Stiles snipes. "Again. Jeez, can't you come up with a new tune? It's like we're back in Oregon."

"No, if we were back in Oregon I'd have shut you up by now," Derek growls.

Stiles snorts. "Please. Like I'd _ever_ go near you again."

"Oh really?" Derek asks, closing the distance between them. "You're the one who sought me out today, remember?"

"To threaten you," Stiles insists. "Not to fuck you."

Derek lets his gaze roam down Stiles's body, slowly coming back up until he can meet Stiles's eyes with an arched eyebrow. "Why not both?"

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Stiles asks with a smirk, even as his hand comes up to grip Derek's shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. "Worm your way into the alpha's good books, fuck the emissary into submission? You know I don't work like that."

"After the way you rode me in Oregon? I'd be an idiot to think that," Derek chuckles, going easily when Stiles tugs on his shirt, backing him up against a wall. "So, what do you say? Think it'll be just as good as last time?"

Stiles hits the wall with a gasp that would piss him off if he wasn't so turned on. "This is the last time," he warns. "It can't happen again.”

"Of course not," Derek agrees, leaning in for a kiss with his hands already working Stiles's shirt up.

* * *

Stiles doesn't intend to, but he spends the whole night with Derek. He argues that multiple orgasms in one session doesn't count as more than one time, even if there was a couple of hours allocated for a nap between those orgasms, and so when he leaves the next morning he repeats his assertion that they will not be sleeping together in any sense for a third time. He stubbornly ignores Derek's laughter as he slams the door shut behind him.

It isn't the first time Stiles has done the walk of shame, but it is the first time he's come home to find Scott waiting for him in his kitchen. Thankfully, his dad has already left for work, but Stiles realises as he meets Scott's gaze that even his dad would have been preferable as a witness to this particular morning after the night before. At least his dad wouldn't be able to smell Derek all over him. "Umm. Hi."

Scott's been frowning since Stiles entered the kitchen. "You slept with him," he says flatly. "All night, from the smell of it."

Stiles winces. "So what if I did?" he asks, though they both know it's weak.

"So, what happened to you hating him, and how 'he and his stupid damn project are _threats_ , Scott'?"

Stiles sighs and sinks into the seat opposite Scott. "That still hasn't changed," he says tiredly. "What happened last night has nothing to do with that."

"So what did happen last night?" Scott pushes. "You swore you wouldn't go near him ever again after the symposium."

"I know," Stiles groans, dropping his head into his hands. "I went over to tell him to watch his back, and we were fighting, and then he was all up in my face and I wanted to _hit him_ , but I--" He hesitates, but has no choice but to finish meekly, "I kissed him instead."

"You kissed him," Scott repeats, raising an eyebrow. "I would have thought you'd have just hit him."

Stiles looks up, rather sheepish. "He might have made a really good argument as to why I should kiss him instead."

Scott treats Stiles to an unimpressed look. "Which means you wanted to fuck him again, and he gave you a convenient excuse," he translates.

"No!" Stiles cries. "That's not what I went there for!"

"I believe that," Scott says soothingly. "And believe me, I know that shit happens sometimes, but they're never a possibility unless they're a thought first."

Stiles pulls a face. "Maybe," he concedes. "But it's not happening again, okay? I swear."

Scott nodded. "Okay. If it does, though-- it's not a bad thing for you to be attracted to someone, or like them, you know?"

"I'm not attracted to anything about Derek except for his body," Stiles says sharply. "He's not a good person, Scott, so don't even think about playing matchmaker."

Scott holds up his hands placatingly. "I'm just saying-- neither of us knows him well enough to say whether or not he's a good person. Even good people have bad ideas, sometimes."

"I'm still not interested," Stiles insists.

"Whatever you say," Scott hums.

Stiles glares at him. "I'm sure you didn't come over here just to annoy me," he says. "Did you need something?"

Scott shrugs. "You didn't answer your phone last night when I asked if you'd done your usual ward-checking, so I came over to ask in person. Imagine my surprise when your dad said you hadn't come home last night."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You don't have to be so smug about it, y'know."

* * *

Things go relatively smoothly for about a week. Derek keeps observing the pack, and Stiles keeps fighting him at every turn, but they don't have sex again. Even though it's clear during their more heated arguments that they both want it, Stiles puts the Stilinski stubbornness to good use and holds his resolve. Sex just complicates things, and there is _nothing_ complicated about Derek Hale and his stupid notions of what makes a good pack.

Stiles' chance to prove that comes a lot earlier than expected, and not in a way that anyone could have predicted. He gets the call at three a.m., Scott demanding his presence in the Preserve along with the rest of the pack: an omega has been spotted at the edge of their territory. She can't have gotten too close because Stiles would know, but when he concentrates he can feel her, a low hum in the back of his mind that's barely noticeable. Still, he gets dressed and climbs behind the wheel of his jeep, just like he always does when Scott needs him.

The hum has become more of a loud buzz by the time he gets to the spot Scott directed him to, the omega evidently having moved closer to the boundary, and with intent to cross it. Stiles is the last to arrive and he jumps out of the jeep and hurries to where the rest of the pack - and Derek - have gathered. "What the hell is he doing here?" he demands, wrapping his hoodie tighter around himself. It's fucking freezing.

"I called him," Scott answers calmly. "I thought he'd be interested to see how we deal with a threat."

Stiles blinks. That's not a bad idea. "Where's the omega?"

Scott lifts a hand, points to an area just ahead of them. "Somewhere in those trees. She's been a little shy since we all got here."

Stiles can't see or hear her, but he can tell that Scott is right. "Has she tried to cross the border?" he asks.

Derek, who up until now has been quiet, asks, "What border?" He can't see anything from where he's standing, but he's rather curious about these wards that Stiles had been boasting about.

Stiles smirks. "You'll see." His wards are always active and primed, but he's been strengthening them since Scott first told him there was a threat, and now that he's actually on the scene he's quietly pouring magic into them; they're more than ready to deal with a pesky omega.

The omega carefully paces forward, trying to gauge how many are in the woods; she has no idea how they'd known she was there, because there’d been no one for a few miles around when she'd first approached the woods, but now there are several people standing in the trees.

"I wouldn't come any closer, if I were you," Scott calls out. "I'm the alpha of the pack that controls this territory, and we don't take kindly to uninvited guests."

The omega pauses; why aren't they attacking? Every other pack she's come across has attacked her... "I'm just trying to pass through," she calls back.

"We can't take that risk," Scott answers. "You'll have to go around."

"Not even with an escort?" she bargains; this is a large territory, and she really just doesn't want to expend that much effort.

"Why should I provide an escort?" Scott asks. "You were going to sneak onto my territory without permission before you got caught." He looks at Derek. "Even we know that's bad etiquette."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Never accused you of that," he mutters under his breath, too low for the omega to hear.

"Well, if you're not going to be nice, I guess I'll just have to outrun you," the omega decides, backing up a few steps and taking a running start forward, unknowingly heading straight for Stiles's wards.

Stiles is ready for her, and when she collides with the wards, they throw her back with a flash. Stiles gives Derek another smirk before turning back to the omega. "You do that again, and it's going to hurt," he warns.

The omega bares her teeth, growling. "What did you do, witch?"

Stiles lets his wards crackle threateningly. "I'm not a witch," he snaps. "You should leave."

It's clear the omega's hesitating, but when Liam and the other betas step forward, eyes glowing, she turns tail and runs. Only after her footsteps have long faded does Derek speak. "That was rather impressive."

Stiles turns to grin at Derek. "Thank you."

The corner of Derek's mouth turns up in a small grin. "You're welcome; just curious, but what did you use as the anchor for the wards? Yourself?"

Stiles shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. Why?"

"That's really impressive," Derek says, looking at Stiles in a whole new light-- wards like what Derek just saw took a lot of magic to anchor to a talisman, but to anchor them to oneself…

"I am, aren't I?" Stiles quips, before addressing Scott. "Can I go home now? The wards have been strengthened again and I'm _cold_."

Scott nods. "Sure. Thanks, Stiles."

"Can you give me a ride back?" Derek asks, turning to Scott. "I was already out running when you called."

Scott pulls a face. "I would, but I have to take Allison home, and you're closer to Stiles..."

Stiles stares at Scott. "No. No way." He points at Derek. "You can walk."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Fine, I'll just walk all the way across town, shall I?" he asks dryly. "Not like I live about five minutes past your house or anything."

"I hate you," Stiles tells Derek, and then to Scott he says, "And you." He glares at Derek and jerks his head towards the jeep. "Get in the damn car."

Derek holds up his hands in supplication, but does as Stiles orders. He doesn't speak until they're outside of his apartment building, and then it's only just a tilt of the head towards the building and ask, "Do you want to come in?"

"And what? Fuck you again?" Stiles snorts. "Fuck _no_."

"Okay then," Derek says, pretending he's not disappointed (really, he shouldn't feel disappointed since Stiles had made his opinion on Derek quite clear) and opening the door. "Thanks for the ride, even though Scott and I strong-armed you into it. I'll see you later."

Stiles' lips part in surprise, but he can't express it in any other way; he said _no_ , after all. "Don't mention it," he says, a few seconds too late. "Ever." He waits until Derek has shut the door before getting the fuck out of there.

* * *

Scott opens the door at some ungodly hour the next morning to find Stiles pacing on his porch. Scott blinks but then gestures for Stiles to come in. "What's up?" he asks, yawning as he reaches for an apple.

"Derek invited me in when I dropped him off last night," Stiles blurts.

Scott blinks again, then takes a cautious sniff. "You don't smell like you slept with him."

"That's because I didn't," Stiles whines. "I said no, and he said _okay_!"

"And... you wanted to sleep with him?" Scott hazards; it is too damn early for this.

"God, no!"

"Lie," Scott says instantly, interested. "Why was that a lie?"

Stiles scowled. "I don't know," he admitted. "I didn't think I wanted to sleep with him? But, when he asked me in last night, I kind of only said no because I expected him to persuade me to say yes."

"So you were thrown off when he respected your 'no' this time," Scott finishes. "Hm. That's… interesting."

"What does that mean?" Stiles demands. "If you're going to psychoanalyse me you have to share with the class, Scott!"

Scott shrugs, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter. "Nothing, it's just that I think maybe after last night, he might have realized that you're amazing, and also hella powerful. So I think that he's going to start respecting you more. And I think that you actually do want to sleep with him, you just don't want to own up to it so you can keep hiding behind the whole 'heat of the moment' excuse."

"He's just so hot," Stiles complains. "And _really_ good in bed. But I shouldn't want him as much as I do."

"Why not?" Scott asked, curious. "Sure, he's from another pack, but he seems decent."

"He's an entitled asshole," Stiles corrects. "He thinks he knows everything, and he wants to tell us how to run the pack. That's not decent."

"Has he ever said he's here to try to run the pack?" Scott counters. "All I've ever heard him say is he's here to observe, and maybe make a few comments."

"And what's he going to do when he's made all his observations?" Stiles asks. "I don't trust him, Scott."

Scott shrugs. "You trust him enough to fuck him. Twice. And I think he's a good guy; bit misguided, maybe, but I think his heart's in the right place."

"That doesn't make him any less dangerous," Stiles points out.

Scott sighs. "Okay. Why is he dangerous?" he asks. "Humor me."

"For all of the reasons I keep giving you," Stiles says. "He's a snob, sure, but his pack has influence. Like, massive influence. If he decides that our pack isn't up to his standards, and his mom decides that based on his information we're more of a hindrance to the supernatural community than we are a help, she can have us wiped off the map. When I threatened to make him leave if he didn't toe the line, Derek made that _abundantly_ clear. The moment we piss him off, we're all dead."

"I don't think he's _that_ unreasonable," Scott muses. "But I see your point. However, the only way we'll convince him we _aren't_ dangerous is if he sees it for himself."

"We can't pretend to be like them," Stiles points out. "We're different. That might make us dangerous enough."

"I'm not saying we pretend to be anything other than what we are," Scott says patiently. "I'm saying, let him see how _we_ run our pack; he was impressed by what happened last night. I don't know how his pack deals with omegas, but he was most definitely impressed with our method. That's a good start. You don't know everything, Stiles, and neither do I."

"I know that," Stiles insists, frustrated. "I'm just saying that we need to be careful."

"I get that," Scott soothes. "But he has to see that we are perfectly capable of defending our territory and that we are no threat to any other pack."

"Then let him see it," Stiles says. "Just don't trust him as far as you can throw him until he's earned it."

Scott rolls his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Stiles," he says, his voice a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

Stiles nods. "Good," he says. "I didn't think you were."

Scott snorts. "Sometimes you act like it."

Stiles just sticks his tongue out at him.

* * *

The omega isn't spotted again and Stiles' wards remain undisturbed, so it's pretty safe to assume that she scarpered when she was given the chance, and things can continue on as normal. The pack behaves as it always does, participating in a mixture of training and bonding sessions, and Derek is always present for everything they do. It grates on Stiles' nerves, especially since he's the one that gets stuck giving Derek a ride home after every gathering, and he doesn't try to hide how annoyed he is about the way Scott keeps looking at him, like he's providing Stiles with opportunities to be alone with Derek out of the good of his heart. It's bullshit, is what it is, but Stiles doesn't kick up too much of a fuss - he just makes sure that everyone around knows how uncomfortable he is with the new arrangements, and very pointedly says _no_ whenever Derek invites him in. They don't sleep together again, they hardly ever exchange more than a handful of words, and if Stiles is a little put out when Derek's invitations stop coming, no one needs to know but Stiles himself. And Scott, because he's a smug, know-it-all little bastard.

Another thing that no one needs to know is that Derek has been calling home a lot more often of late than he was when he first came out to California. Stiles would probably just assume that he was giving Talia bad reports and kick him out of town, when in reality it's Laura he's been talking to about the most mind-numbingly mundane things, desperately seeking her advice but not really sure how to ask for it. Until now.

"Okay," Laura says when Derek calls her at some godforsaken hour of the morning, after Stiles has dropped him off yet again following a pack all-nighter spent watching movies. "I know there's no way you actually call me just to ask how work is going. Something is on your mind, and it's starting to affect my beauty sleep. So why don't you just spill, and save us both the bother?"

"I'm fucked," Derek admits. "I slept with Stiles again when I first showed up, and now I'm spending a lot of time with his pack and they're all really amazing and they do things so differently than we do, but they make it work and I think it might even work a bit better than what we do, but I'm pretty sure Stiles hates my guts and I don't want him to but I don't know what to make of that and I'm just really confused and need advice."

There's a pause, and then Laura speaks. "Why don't you want Stiles to hate you?" she asks. "Do you want to get closer to the pack and he keeps blocking you? Do you want to sleep with him again?"

"Neither one of those are right," Derek says, frustrated. "He's not really blocking me from getting close to the pack-- the alpha, Scott McCall, has been very welcoming. And he's gorgeous and smart-mouthed and ferocious and protective, and just... Laur, he _made himself the anchor_ for I don't know how many wards."

Laura makes a soft, impressed sound. "You don't want to sleep with him," she deduces, "you want to _date_ him."

"What? No!" Derek denies immediately, but then he thinks about it and deflates. "Okay, yes. Maybe a little. But I'm pretty sure he hates me. I was an ass in Oregon, and when I first showed up here."

"At least you've got something in common," Laura says dryly. "I know what you've told me about the pack so far has all been good, Derek, but are you sure this is a good idea? Even if he didn't hate you, that pack is still nothing like what we're used to; what the rest of the community is used to. You won't find another pack like that anywhere, not in this country at least. Do you really want to get mixed up in all of that?"

Derek takes the time to think that through. "I think so," he says finally. "They're... They're good people, Laura. They're a different type of pack, sure-- but they've survived things no other pack I know of has ever encountered. They don't seem aggressive, and when an omega showed up, they didn't even have to run it off of their territory; Stiles activated his wards, and the omega couldn't cross the boundary lines. I really think they're no threat to anyone."

"What about the rumours we've heard about them?" Laura asks. "The kanima that's supposedly under their control, the nogitsune Stiles himself apparently fought off and _killed_ without help - have you asked about any of that?"

Derek shrugs, then remembers that Laura can't see him. "No, I haven't-- but I haven't seen any signs of a kanima, and I don't... I don't want to ask Stiles about the nogitsune, not when he's already so antagonistic towards me."

Laura sighs. "Well," she says, "the fact of the matter is that you went to Beacon Hills with questions, and you shouldn't even start to think about playing house with potentially one of the most dangerous members of the pack before you have those questions answered."

Derek scrubs a hand over his face. "You're right," he admits. "You're right. I-- Getting any further involved is a bad idea. Tell Mom that they're no threat, okay? Not to anyone who doesn't threaten them first."

"If I tell her that, she's going to want you to come home," Laura says gently.

"I know," Derek snaps. "But Stiles keeps pestering me about what I'm telling you guys, and at any rate Mom can't _make_ me come home. I--" He hesitates, but admits, "I really like it here. Not just for Stiles, but the town itself, and the rest of the pack."

"Okay," Laura sighs. "I love you, you know that, right? I'm just trying to look out for you."

"I know," Derek replies, voice softening. "I love you too."

* * *

"So!" Scott begins at the next pack meeting, smiling even wider than normal. "Derek's been telling me that he gave his alpha a glowing report of our pack."

"Does that mean he can leave now?" Stiles asks darkly.

Scott shoots him a sharp look. "Stiles, be nice."

"Nope."

Derek rolls his eyes. "I'm used to him," he says dismissively. "But yes, I told her about the pack, and how I really don't think you're any danger to anyone who doesn't threaten you first. You run things a bit different, but you're still a good pack." He hesitates, but then continues, "I'm not leaving just yet; I like Beacon Hills, more than I thought I would. And I have a few questions about, uh, well, the rumors about your pack's history."

Stiles doesn't realise how relaxed he's been around Derek lately until those words have him tensing right back up again. He's not the only one, either; the entire pack sits up and takes notice, ready for a fight.

Even Scott looks wary. "What do you want to know?" he asks.

"I know I'm probably overstepping some boundaries, so if I ask something that no one wants to answer, you can just tell me to fuck off," Derek starts with. "But there are so many rumors surrounding your pack, that I guess maybe just a rundown of what happened?"

Scott looks a little lost, and when no one else opens their mouths Stiles takes it upon himself to answer. He explains how Scott was bitten by a rogue alpha, along with Jackson and Lydia. He explains that Lydia was the only one unaffected by the bite, and adds that Lydia's powers as a banshee developed not long after that. He explains that, in taking down the alpha and everything associated with that, Scott became a true alpha. Isaac and Boyd helped as humans, and with his new powers Scott offered them and Erica the bite, and they accepted.

Stiles finishes by briefly outlining all the shit that went down with the darach and the alpha pack, and by the time he falls silent everyone is looking at the floor or the walls, shaken by the reminders of their past. Stiles can understand that; even though he's purposefully left the personal stuff out, like Jackson's stint as a kanima and his own as the nogitsune, he feels just as washed out as the rest of them look. "And that's pretty much it," he says, quietly and without meeting Derek's gaze.

Derek can see the emotional toll the retelling has taken on everyone, but he can't help but ask, "There have been rumors about a kanima...?"

"That would be me," Jackson says.

Derek looks at Jackson curiously. "You smell like a wolf," he says, a little confused.

Jackson rolls his eyes. "That's because I'm not anymore."

"We know what people say about us," Lydia says sharply. "That we _enslaved_ a kanima. But we didn't. We cured one."

"I didn't know know that was possible," Derek replies, surprised. "But that... Well, from what we know of kanimas, that makes sense that it would work. They're made when the bitten person is out of balance, right?"

"Right," Jackson says, his expression carefully blank. "I had some issues."

"But who doesn't, right?" Stiles jokes weakly. "Is there anything else, Derek?"

"Right, no, sorry," Derek apologizes, sensing this is ground better not trodden. "No, I just-- I wanted to know the truth behind the rumors. They exaggerate quite a bit."

"As rumours often do," Stiles says tiredly. A glance at his phone tells him that explaining all of this has taken over an hour, and he's suddenly exhausted. "Scott, if it's all the same to you, I think I'm gonna take off."

Lydia takes Jackson's hand. "I think we should go home, too."

"Me too," Isaac says.

Scott sighs. "Maybe we can try the whole pack night thing later in the week?"

Stiles manages a weak smile. "Thanks, Scotty." He looks at Derek. "Are you sticking around, or do you want a ride?"

"I could use a ride, if it's not a big deal," Derek answers, suddenly feeling a bit awkward and like he seriously overstepped.

Stiles actually smiles. "Nah, it's not a big deal," he says.

Derek smiles back, grateful; they're quiet for the drive to Derek's apartment building, but before he opens the door of the jeep he turns to Stiles. "You can tell me to go fuck myself, but I did actually have one more question," he admits sheepishly. "I just... wasn't sure how to ask it with everyone else around."

Stiles sighs, and bows his head until all he can see is the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel. "I know," he says. "That particular rumour is only partly true. I was possessed by a nogitsune."

Derek tilts his head. "I would have thought someone as powerful as you could handle that."

Stiles shoots him a dark look. "I wasn't powerful back then," he says. "I didn't even realise there was something supernatural going on; I went to a doctor and got told I was dying of some kind of dementia instead."

"Oh." Derek swallows. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed..."

"It's fine," Stiles says, because it is. "I had my friends to get me out of it, and afterwards I realised I never wanted to be that vulnerable again. So, I stopped being vulnerable."

"That's admirable," Derek says truthfully. "Thank you for the ride, Stiles. I'll see you around?"

Stiles nods, but then thinks better of it when Derek is halfway out of the car. "Derek, wait."

Derek pauses, looking at Stiles. "Yeah?"

Stiles hesitates for a long moment, just holding Derek's gaze. He feels broken open right now, and he knows that Derek could help to put him back together, but... no. He's fought too hard to start being vulnerable now. "Nothing," he says at last. "Never mind."

Derek's expression betrays his confusion, but he nods nonetheless. "All right. I'll see you around, Stiles. Have a good night."

"Yeah, you too." Stiles has pulled out of the street before Derek's even got his key in the door.

* * *

And so the pattern repeats; Derek gradually learns more about the history of the pack, and Stiles drives him home after every pack night-- and more and more, Derek starts to feel at home with this pack. Every night, Stiles seems to hesitate before bidding Derek goodnight, but Derek never pushes. They get closer, and while Stiles still complains about him, it's started to take on a good-natured vibe.

About two weeks after the first, rather disastrous, probing, Stiles stops Derek with a hand on his arm before Derek can get out of the Jeep. Derek turns to look at Stiles, confused and a little hopeful. "Yeah?"

Stiles swallows hard, considers backing out again, but knows that he can't. "Can I come in?" he asks.

Derek's surprised, but he nods nonetheless. "Sure. Come on in."

Stiles realises that he doesn't know what he's doing here as soon as he gets inside, and he gives Derek a weak, uncertain smile. "You have a nice place," he offers. "I don't think I mentioned that last time."

"No, you didn't," Derek agrees, a small smile on his face. "You were too busy threatening me." His expression and tone make it clear he's just teasing.

Stiles feels himself relax a little. "Well, that's not what I'm here for this time," he says; at least he knows that much.

"I do enjoy not being threatened," Derek chuckles, heading for the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Sure," Stiles says. "Whatever you're having." He sits down on the sofa in the living room, which is surprisingly comfortable, and looks around. It's probably not a good sign that he can remember where the bedroom is, but not the bathroom.

After a moment's deliberation, Derek grabs a diet Dr Pepper for him and Stiles. "So, why'd you want to come in? Did you have any questions?"

"No," Stiles says, his gaze trained on the can in his hand. "I just..."

Derek's expression softens. "You wanna watch some tv?" he offers. "I recorded a bunch of episodes of America's Funniest Home Videos."

Stiles looks up, smiles. "That actually sounds great."

* * *

After that, it's not unusual for Stiles to come in and visit with Derek for a bit before heading back to his place; gradually, it becomes less awkward and more friendly, and Derek finds himself rapidly heading for the edge of "No I'm not in love with him I swear" with no hints of stopping before it becomes "well, shit" territory. Derek has no idea how Stiles feels about him, but there's also no way he's asking and risking messing up the tentative friendship they've built.

One night about a month and a half (and several reiterations of "No, I like it here, and there's nothing back home that requires my urgent attention so fuck off and quit asking me when I'm coming home, Laura") later, Stiles breaks their new routine; instead of parking and turning off the Jeep, he simply pulls up in front of Derek's apartment building and leaves the car running. Derek looks over at Stiles, confused. "You're not coming in?"

Stiles offers Derek a sheepish smile. "My dad has the night off for the first time in forever; I said I'd let him have pizza," he says. "But next time?"

"Next time," Derek agrees, leaning over the console to drop a swift kiss to Stiles's lips before getting out of the Jeep.

It's not until he's locking the door to his apartment behind him that he realizes what he did; he thinks the following freak-out is entirely justifiable.

It's even worse for Stiles. He spends the drive home trying to work out what feels so strange, and doesn't realise the answer until he's halfway through dinner with his dad, at which point he drops his slice of pizza back onto his plate and yelps, "Oh my God, Derek kissed me!"

The sheriff startles at the sudden exclamation, then frowns at his son. "Are you only just now realizing this?"

"Yes!" Stiles squeaks. "It was just so normal, I didn't even... but he's never kissed me before!" He pauses. "Well, not like _that_."

The sheriff pulls a face. "I don't need to know what other ways he's kissed you," he says, a little indignant. "But you said this was different? How? I didn't even know you were dating him. Last I heard you hated his guts."

"I do," Stiles says, but even he knows it's a lie and from the look on his dad's face he isn't the only one. "Okay, maybe I don't hate him anymore, but we're definitely not dating. We've just been hanging out lately, and it's been nice, y'know? Easy. And this kiss was easy too, I guess."

The sheriff shrugs. "It was easy the first time your mom kissed me," he replies. "Did you not like it?"

"I didn't even notice it was happening," Stiles points out. "But no, with hindsight I definitely liked it." He blushes.

"Then I don't see what the big deal is, aside from the fact that he's from another pack," the sheriff answers, shrugging. "Go talk to him, ask him out on a proper date."

"He hates me as much as I hate him, though," Stiles whines. "What if it was a mistake and he says no?"

"You just said you don't hate him," the sheriff says, rolling his eyes. "And you can either sit around and worry yourself to death about it, or go find some answers."

Stiles looks down at his pizza, but his appetite seems to have been replaced by the butterflies flapping around in his stomach. "Can I be excused?" he asks meekly.

"Of course," the sheriff says with an understanding smile.

* * *

Derek lives less than five minutes away, but Stiles may have to pull over on the way over there to freak out a couple of times. It's half an hour before he's is hammering on Derek's door.

Derek, who's been having a freak out of his own, answers the door when he recognizes Stiles's elevated heartbeat. "Stiles? What are you doing here?" he asks, forcing himself to at least appear calm.

"I need to talk to you," Stiles says. "About the kiss."

Derek swallows. "Sure. Uh, come in."

Stiles steps inside and turns to look at Derek, fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie. "So, you kissed me."

"I did, yes," Derek agrees, nervous. "I-- Should I be apologizing for that?"

Stiles winces. "Only if you regret it?"

Derek hesitates before admitting, "I don't regret it."

Stiles nods, and offers Derek a hesitant smile. "I don't, either."

"Oh good," Derek says on a relieved sigh.

"I didn't even realise it had happened," Stiles says, taking a step toward Derek. "Not until I was at home and halfway through a pizza. It just... it felt natural, y'know?"

"I didn't realize until I got inside," Derek confesses, mirroring Stiles's movement with a hopeful feeling.

Stiles laughs, a soft exhalation that's accompanied by a smile that reaches his eyes. "Well, how about we try again?" he asks.

"Sounds good to me," Derek answers, though he waits for Stiles to make the first move.

Stiles is all too happy to do that, sliding a hand into Derek's hair and bringing their lips together in a soft, lingering kiss.

Derek hums into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup Stiles's cheek. When they pull apart, Derek's smiling. "That was good."

Stiles smiles back, his stomach flip-flopping all over the place like he's a goddamn teenager again. "That was a first kiss," he says. They're still only inches apart and the intimacy of it is astounding. "Or, at least it felt like one."

Derek can't help but laugh a little breathlessly. "Technically not our 'first' kiss," he agrees. "But I get what you're saying."

"It felt like the start of something, though, didn't it?" Stiles asks, before his eyes go wide. "Did it?"

"It did," Derek says, smiling still. "So, um... do you want to go get dinner sometime?"

"Like, as a date?" Stiles asks, mortified when a giggle bubbles past his lips. "Yeah, hell yeah."

Derek's smile widens. "Awesome."

* * *

The date goes off without a hitch; it's just grabbing dinner and eating it at Derek's apartment after the next pack meeting, but it leaves Derek with an incredibly hopeful feeling in his chest that maybe this can work. He has to say something, and he doesn't particularly want to make himself seem like a crazy person to his neighbors, so before he fully realizes what's happening, he's dialing Laura's number. When she picks up, Derek blurts, "I kissed Stiles."

"And what, he rejected you?" Laura demands, outraged. "I'll get the first flight out and kick his ass."

"No, no, no!" Derek yelps, suddenly realizing how that sounded. "No, don't; he actually-- I just got back from a date with him."

"A _date_?" This time, Laura sounds excited rather than outraged. "Oh my God, tell me everything."

So Derek does. "It wasn't anything huge," he says after he's finished. "But... I think there's something there."

"I'm really happy for you," Laura says, her smile audible. "He sounds like a sweet guy, if you ignore the fact that he made your life miserable for weeks. Did you ever find out if he did kill that nogitsune?"

Derek worries his lower lip before answering. "I did ask him about it, but... It's gone, and he said it wasn't a good time in his life; it was before he really started developing his powers, I think. I haven't pushed about it."

Laura sighs. "Okay," she says. "That's probably for the best. I am curious, though."

"I know, and I am, too," Derek says, "but it's gone now, and that's really all that matters. The rest of the pack... They've been through some shit, Laur. It's not like the rumors say, but it's close enough."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Laura asks. "Are you sure you want to get caught up in a pack like that?"

Derek's quiet for a moment, thinking. "I think I do," he replies. "I really like it here, and I like the pack." He takes a deep breath before continuing, "They're starting to feel like mine."

Laura sucks in a sharp breath. "Derek, that's serious," she says.

Derek runs a hand through his hair. "You think I don't know that?" he retorts. "I know it's serious, feeling like they're pack. But I mean it, Laur. The more I get to know them, the more time I spend with them... I don't think it's just separation from you guys. I think it's... I think this is where I'm supposed to be."

"What if it is just because you've been away from us for so long, though?" Laura asks. "What if they don't feel the same way?"

"That's why I haven't said anything," Derek admits. "I think this is the real deal, but I'm not sure."

"You need to talk to Stiles," Laura says after a long, pregnant pause. "You need to talk to Scott."

Derek sighs. His sister, as usual, is right; he does need to talk to the alpha and emissary of the pack he thinks he's bonding into. "I will," he promises. "But... Maybe I should come back, just for a bit? Just to make sure that it's not just separation."

Laura doesn't even try to hide her relief. "I think that's a good idea," she says. "And Mom will be happy to see you."

"I'll let you know when I can get a flight," Derek promises, shuddering at the thought; he'd flown down here, and he'd flown many times before that, but he still fucking hated planes.

Laura knows exactly what he’s thinking. "You'll be fine, baby bro," she giggles.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Derek to make a reservation; he finalizes the last few details before Stiles comes over the next day. Hence, instead of saying hello, Derek opens the door with, "I'm going back to Washington."

The bottom drops out of Stiles' stomach. "You're leaving?" he asks, uncomfortably breathless. "But I thought..."

Derek shrugs. "Some things came up, and my family wants me back for a while," he explains. "I'm planning on coming back here, though."

"Oh." Stiles actually feels his heart start beating again. "So you're not... This isn't you saying that you don't want..?"

Derek's eyes widen with realization, and he shakes his head frantically. "No, no, that's not it at all," he reassures Stiles. "It's just-- " He takes a deep breath, trying to decide how to phrase his next words, and decides that 'bluntly' is the best option. "I think my pack ties are changing. We just want to make sure that it's not because I've been away from my family for several months now."

"Oh," Stiles says again, softer this time and somewhat awed. "So, you feel like _we're_ your pack?"

Derek nods. "Or, I'm starting to anyway. This is mostly just to make sure that it's not because I've been away from my family and close to your pack for so long."

Stiles nods, understanding. "Can I come?" he asks.

Derek blinks, taken aback. "You... want to?" he asks hesitantly.

"If that's okay," Stiles says. "I'd be interested to see how your pack works." "I-- yeah, that'd be great," Derek decides with a smile. "Fair warning, I fucking hate flying."

Stiles grins. "I'll hold your hand."

"You're gonna regret that offer," Derek warns.

Stiles laughs. "As long as you don't break my hand with your werewolfy strength, I think we'll be good."

hr>

Derek doesn't break Stiles's hand, but he does break the armrest (it's the window seat armrest, and Derek's very careful getting out so it doesn't actually fall off). He's tempted to actually kiss the ground when they get off the plane, but he restrains himself-- barely. As they wait for their bags to come around the baggage claim, Derek tells Stiles that Laura's coming to pick them up. "She was at the symposium, too, but I don't know if you ever saw her. Just... She can be a bit over-enthusiastic. So, be prepared."

"Nothing like you, then?" Stiles teases.

"Ha, ha," Derek says dryly, grabbing their baggage. "Come on, she should be waiting by the front.”

Stiles follows Derek around to the front of the airport, and even if Laura didn't squeal and make a beeline for them he would know who she is. Fraternal twins are not supposed to look alike, Stiles knows, but the family resemblance is _strong_. He has just about enough time to realise this before Laura is sweeping past him and throwing herself at Derek.

"I've missed you, baby bro," she tells him, hugging him fiercely.

Derek returns the hug just as enthusiastically. "I missed you, too," he replies, burying his face in the crook of her neck and briefly scenting her. He pulls back after a moment, though, and moves over next to Stiles. "Stiles, this is Laura. Laur, Stiles."

Laura looks him over with an appraising eye, making Stiles blush and shift his feet, uncomfortable. "You're cute," she says at last. "And a menace."

"Umm, thanks?"

Laura smiles. “Hurt my brother, and even your strongest wards won’t be enough to protect you.”

Derek glares at Laura, who just shrugs unrepentantly. "Don't threaten my boyfriend," he warns. "Or I'll tell _your_ girlfriend about the collection you had when you were sixteen."

"Well that's just rude," Laura huffs, pouting. "I don't like you anymore." She links her arm through Stiles', who looks utterly bemused, and drags him off in the direction of the car.

Derek just rolls his eyes and follows.

* * *

In the car, Derek warns Stiles that while he _did_ tell his pack that Stiles was coming with him, they would still probably be... very excited about his arrival, to say the least. "So, just, be prepared for anything," he finishes to Stiles's amused nod.

"Anything" ends up translating to "absolutely every pack member failing to try to be subtle in catching a glimpse of the fabled McCall emissary" as Derek hustles Stiles through the pack house to meet his mother and alpha. It's tradition, he explains, for the visiting emissary of a pack to first introduce himself to the alpha-- with the exception of whichever pack member(s) escort the emissary there. Which in this case, are Laura and Derek.

Talia is waiting for them in her office, looking beautiful and terrifying. Just stepping over the threshold of the room has Stiles breaking out in a sweat. "Alpha Hale," he says, remembering what Derek said all those months ago about pack etiquette. "It's really nice to meet you. Thank you for letting me come."

Talia smiles, standing and extending a hand to Stiles; it's too high for a handshake, and when her hand hovers inches from Stiles's neck, it's clear what she expects. Derek nudges Stiles purposefully.

It takes Stiles a moment to get it, but then he tilts his head to one side, baring his throat in submission.

Pleased, Talia lightly touches his neck, accepting the submission without covering his own alpha's scent. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Stilinski," she says, returning to her seat and gesturing for Derek, Stiles, and Laura to take one as well.

There's a moment of awkward silence. Stiles isn't sure if there are any more formalities he should be aware of, or if they're just waiting for him to speak, but before he can decide what to do Laura speaks for him.

"So, Stiles. What happened with that nogitsune?"

Stiles flushes and looks at Derek. "Uhh..."

Derek actually growls at his sister, and even Talia gives her heir a reproachful look. "Don't feel like you have to answer that," Talia reassures Stiles.

Thank you," Stiles says, sighing. "Maybe another time?" He doesn't want Talia to feel like he's hiding things from her, but he also isn't comfortable talking about something so personal with people he barely knows.

"Or not at all, if you'd prefer," Talia replies with a gentle smile before shooting Laura a look that says that they're going to have _words_ later. "I do have to say, I am a little surprised that you and Derek have grown so close; from what I remember of the symposium and of Derek's first few months in Beacon Hills, you were quite antagonistic towards each other."

Stiles inclines his head. "Differences of opinion," he says diplomatically. "We didn't understand each other very well."

"He thought I was there to sic every other pack in the country on his pack if I didn't like what I saw, and I was offended by that. I didn't handle it very maturely, admittedly," Derek translates, and Talia can't help but chuckle.

"Well, let me assure you as Hale alpha that that was never our intention," she says, turning to Stiles. "There hasn't been a pack as... unique as yours in quite some time; as you and Derek had already met, I wanted him to go visit."

"To help us establish ourselves properly, I think Derek said," Stiles says, arching an eyebrow. "I think my misgivings, which were shared by my own alpha and the rest of our pack, were understandable."

"Of course they were, and still are," Talia soothes. "But you also have to understand my own concern, and the concern of many other alphas; your pack has dealt with so many threats, and have so many wild rumors circulating, that we had to be concerned about the safety of every pack, if only because your pack might inadvertently reveal the existence of the supernatural."

"With all due respect, Alpha Hale," Stiles says bluntly, "we're not stupid. I can see where you're coming from, but the nature of our pack dictates that we have to be careful, I would argue even more so than your pack and the others like it. We're alone in the world, and we have no experience or understanding of the supernatural other than what has been forced on us. If we were to reveal the existence of the supernatural, we'd be wiped out, no questions asked."

"I'm not saying that you are stupid," Talia counters; she's actually rather glad she doesn't have to be diplomatic about this. It's something she's always hated, "but it is still a concern. What you use as defense can also be used against you; you are alone in this world, and you do not know our traditions nor the reasons behind them. And even the most careful packs still slip; there have been many massacres through history that have been covered up but were due to the fact that a pack was discovered."

"We're not a threat to your pack," Stiles says. "I thought we'd already established this."

"That's not what I'm saying; I am saying that we are willing to help you, to prevent as much of the possibility of a slip as possible. Every pack is an indirect threat to each other, if only because of the possibility of making a mistake-- and one mistake is all it takes," Talia warns. "One mistake, and hunters will descend on you. Valentine's Day Massacre, the Boston Massacre, and numerous others were because a pack made a single mistake and hunters took full advantage of that, regardless of whether or not that pack had ever harmed an innocent. Far too many hunters do not follow the code, and instead assume that every supernatural creature is guilty until proven innocent."

"So, once again, we're a pack that needs your protection," Stiles bristles. "Have you given any thought to how we might be able to help you? I didn't feel any wards on the way into your territory."

Talia raises an eyebrow. "You didn't? We rarely have problems with omegas, or much of any threat, really. We are a large, well-established pack; there hasn't been any need for wards."

"So you're untouchable?" Stiles asks. "Forgive me for saying so, but that is the kind of arrogance that will get you killed. You are very important to the community, even I know that, but that just makes you even more of a target."

Talia hums thoughtfully. "Then what would you suggest?"

"I'd suggest that you put up some wards," Stiles answers. "They don't have to be heavy-duty, they don't have to be the kind that would put a strain on your emissary, they could just be enough that you'd know whenever a potential threat crosses the boundaries. They can then be reinforced to keep out any other threats if necessary and, if your emissary is powerful enough," Stiles smirks, "they can also be used to eject any unwanted persons who have outstayed their welcome."

Derek smirks, remembering how Stiles had kept out the omega. Talia gives Stiles an appraising look before nodding. "If you wouldn't mind, perhaps you could speak with our emissary about setting up some wards," she suggests. "At any rate, I didn't mean to interrogate you. Please, feel free to mingle with the pack, ask questions, and see how we do things. If you feel like anything we do might be useful to you, perhaps we can come to an agreement; I would not be opposed to allying with your pack."

Stiles takes a moment before answering. "I appreciate your hospitality," he says carefully. "If Derek can introduce me to your emissary, I'll be happy to help."

Talia inclines her head to Derek, who nods. "I hope you enjoy your stay, and that we'll become good friends," Talia says, clearly ending the meeting. Derek leads Stiles out of the room, and blows out a breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks, concerned. "I know Mom wasn't exactly... diplomatic."

"I'm fine," Stiles says, unfazed. "Are you, though? I tried to be polite, but I'm not sure it worked very well."

Derek grins. "To be honest with you, Mom hates all the formalities," he confides as he leads Stiles towards the emissary's office. Hopefully Deaton will Be in. "She understands why they're needed, and she's good at being formal, but if you show her respect, then she doesn't care how blunt you want to be. Until you stop being respectful about it, at least. But you were good; I think she likes you."

"She likes me," Stiles scoffs. "She nearly tore me to shreds."

Derek frowns. "What makes you say that?"

"She was all 'Your pack is a danger' and 'We're going to make sure you don't slip up and get us all killed'." Stiles flails his hands in Derek's face. "When I told her that she was arrogant if she thought her territory didn't need wards around it, I thought she was going to bite me. Like, granted, she agreed with me, but that's only because I was _right_. She couldn't very well leave her pack in danger once I'd pointed it out."

"That's what she'd say to any new pack," Derek counters, "because it's the truth. Every new pack _is_ a danger, because they're unused to our world and don't know the rules. And you do have a point about her being arrogant."

Stiles flushes. "It was still rude," he says.

Derek shrugs. "She won't come after you or your pack for it," he says reassuringly. "Like I said, she likes you. Not many speak their mind to the Hale alpha so bluntly."

Stiles offers Derek a small smile. "I'm not exactly used to curbing my attitude."

Derek laughs. "You're telling me," he agrees, grinning. "But seriously, you're not in trouble."

"Okay," Stiles says. "I'll believe you. So what's your emissary like?"

Derek makes a face, trying to decide how to describe Deaton. "He's... He's a good emissary, but he can be a pain in the ass to work with. He likes to be cryptic."

"So he might not be receptive to my idea?" Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. "I honestly don't know. But I think at least having some wards to warn us if something hostile is on our territory would be a good idea.”

"Well, I'll give it my best shot." They come to a stop in front of what Stiles assumes is the emissary's office, and with a look at Derek, who nods, he raises a hand to knock.

Deaton answers the door after a moment; he looks from Derek to Stiles before stepping back to allow them entrance. "You must be the visiting emissary," Deaton deduces. "Alan Deaton, emissary of the Hale pack."

"Stiles Stilinski," Stiles says, offering Deaton his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Deaton takes the proffered hand, one eyebrow raising as he feels the power in the man opposite him. "You're a spark," he says, just a touch awed.

Stiles smiles. "I'm a lot more than that, now."

"Oh?" Deaton asks, interested.

"I've worked hard over the years to cultivate my spark," Stiles explains. "It's more like a flame now. Which is why Talia asked me to speak with you."

Deaton raised an eyebrow. "Did you do this by yourself?" he asks.

"Umm, yeah," Stiles says, glancing at Derek. "There wasn't much of anyone else to help me. I kind of had to."

"Impressive," Deaton muses. "Now, you said Talia wanted you to see me?"

Stiles nods. "She thought it would be worth us talking about setting up some wards around the perimeter of the Hale territory."

Deaton hums thoughtfully. "What kinds of wards?"

"The simple kind," Stiles says. "They wouldn't be active all the time except to inform you when a potential threat crosses them, but could be reinforced and strengthened in the event of an attack."

Deaton considers that for a moment. "I can see how those would be useful," he concedes. "What would be involved?"

"A small amount of effort on your part," Stiles says, smiling. "Do you have much experience with setting wards?"

"All emissaries have experience with that," Deaton answers. "It's the first thing taught."

"Then you know what I'm talking about," Stiles says, eyebrows raised.

"I do, yes-- but there are few things stupid enough to come onto the Hale territory without curbing their attitude," Deaton replies. "The Hales have friends through the entire town."

"Attitude and intent are very different things," Stiles points out.

"And these wards of yours can differentiate? Each ward is different from emissary to emissary."

"If you create your wards sensitive enough, then yes, they can," Stiles says, irritated. "Even the simple ones can detect bad intent."

Derek watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow; he has little to no experience with the things Deaton does on a daily basis, but even he can see that what he'd just asked had been an insultingly simple question.

Deaton seems unfazed, instead raising an eyebrow and asking, "Why, then, did Talia send you to speak with me? She knows that I know about wards."

Stiles sighs. "Because it would appear that I have more experience with wards than you," he says tartly. "Given that you seem unsure about how wards can be used effectively, and that you don't have any in place around the territory currently." Derek holds his breath as Deaton formulates his answer-- in the end, it's a simple nod and "Fair enough; what would you suggest, then?"

Stiles breathes out a sigh of relief. "What I've already said," he answers. "Low-grade wards that will keep you informed but won't take action until you need them to. All of my wards know to keep out unexpected supernatural creatures, but that's only because we're an easier target for the bad guys than you are. Given how important you are in the community, that kind wouldn't be a good idea - but that doesn't mean that you should be defenceless."

Deaton considers that carefully before nodding. "Would you mind showing me your designs?"

"Of course not," Stiles says, smiling. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Derek ends up excusing himself while Deaton and Stiles wrestle over the problem of installing wards around their territory; instead, Derek seeks out the family he hasn't seen yet, his wolf feeling happier with each reunion-- but not ecstatic. The wolf recognizes the other members of the Hale pack as family, but that feeling of _pack_ is barely there-- but when Derek eventually returns to drag Stiles away from Deaton so that they can go eat and so Stiles can meet the rest of his family, Derek's immediately hit with a feeling of _home, pack, mate_ the instant he picks up Stiles's scent. _Well, that answers that question,_ Derek muses. Out loud, he asks, "You hungry? Cora, Laura, and Phillip want to take me and you out for dinner."

"I'm famished," Stiles says, grinning. "Working magic uses a lot of energy, y'know. Where are we headed?"

"Golden Corrall," Derek answers, returning the grin. "Buffets are the only thing that don't end up super expensive for wolves."

* * *

They've been sat down for all of five minutes when the interrogation starts. "So, Derek tells us you're a pretty powerful emissary," Cora says loftily. "Does that mean you can do magic?"

Stiles knows that his ears are already pink, and he chuckles uneasily. "Yeah, I can do some magic."

"No need to be modest," Cora says, smirking. "It takes a lot to impress Derek. Show us a trick."

"A _trick_?"

Derek aims a kick at Cora under the table, but apparently she anticipated it and dodges. "Cora, don't," he says, glaring at his younger sister, but Phillip interrupts.

"No, I want to see, too," he says, looking at Stiles eagerly; Derek's not as irritated at him, considering Phillip's only seventeen and hasn't been outside the territory.

Stiles sighs, resigned, and leans forward. "Okay. What kind of _trick_ did you have in mind?"

Cora doesn't even have to think about it. "Light a candle!" she says eagerly.

"A candle?" Stiles asks. "A bit predictable, isn't it?"

Cora has the grace to blush. "It was the best I could think of," she says.

Stiles shrugs. "Well, I don't actually see any candles in here, but okay." He makes a show of waggling his fingers, and a candle appears in the middle of the table.

"It's not lit," Phillip points out, confused.

Stiles winks at him, and a flame flickers to life about the candle's wick.

"Oh my God," Cora breathes.

Even Derek's impressed with this, although he plays it down by saying, "Throwing an omega was more impressive."

Stiles laughs. "This is child's play," he agrees, even as an ice crystal forms around the flame and traps it, still burning, inside.

"Okay, _that's_ pretty cool," Derek concedes with a grin.

"What else can you do?" Phillip asks eagerly.

Stiles shrugs. "All kinds of things," he answers. "I've worked hard over the years."

Phillip opens his mouth to say something, but Derek elbows him in the side. "We're in public, remember? There's only so much Stiles can do right now without drawing attention."

As if on cue, a waitress starts wandering over, and with another waggle of Stiles' fingers the candle vanishes. "That's funny," the waitress says when she reaches their table, frowning. "I could've sworn I saw..." All four of them blink up at her innocently, and she shakes her head with a smile. "It's been a long day, I guess. Can I get you any more drinks?"

* * *

Luckily, Cora and Phillip drop it, but Derek brings the subject back up that night as he and Stiles get ready for bed. "So, where'd the candle come from?"

Stiles smirks. "Nowhere," he says.

"Nowhere?" Derek echoes, confused.

"It was an illusion," Stiles explains. "Don't get me wrong, I could do all of that stuff to a real candle in my sleep, but you can't create matter out of nothing. So it was an illusion."

Derek's impressed, despite himself. "How much harder is it to hold an illusion than to do that stuff to a regular candle?"

"Umm, a little," Stiles admits. "I have to alter the perception of a lot of people - like how the waitress saw it? I made sure it was open to other people so that it would seem more real for Cora and Phillip. So, the more people who can see it, the harder it is."

"Okay, that's cool," Derek concedes with a grin. "What other kinds of things could you do?"

Stiles laughs. "You have something in mind?"

"Well , I've got a couple of shirts with holes in them thanks to you," Derek answers with a teasing grin.

Stiles doesn't look even remotely apologetic. "You shouldn't have pissed me off," he teases. "I can probably fix them, though."

"I hope you can," Derek throws over his shoulder as he rummage through the dresser; they were staying in his room at the Hale house. "That was my favorite shirt, the first time."

Stiles smirks. "You should have been more careful, then."

" _I_ should have been more careful?" Derek says disbelievingly, turning around with his shirt in his hand. "You were the one who tore it!"

"I didn't tear it, actually," Stiles says snippily, still smirking.

Derek raises an eyebrow. "You're sure about that?"

"Positive," Stiles says, raising his own. "I burned it."

"Hm," Derek thinks back, and nods. "That's right, you did. It's still your fault though."

"I said I'd fix it, didn't I?"

Derek rolls his eyes and resumes digging until he finds the shirt Stiles had ruined-- there are two holes positioned directly over where his nipples would be. He gives it a little shake and looks at Stiles pointedly.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Stiles sighs. He focuses on the shirt, and after a few moments of concentration the material begins to weave itself back together. "Happy now?"

Derek waits until the magic's done and he's thoroughly inspected the shirt before nodding and walking over to plant a kiss to Stiles cheek. "Thanks, babe," he simpers before snickering.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You're an asshole."

"Hey, you knew what you were getting into," Derek retorts with a grin.

"Yeah," Stiles says, smiling softly now. "I did."

Derek own grin softens to match, and he moves back over to Stiles, drawing him in for a slow kiss. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Stiles' ears turn pink. "You're not so bad yourself."

Derek chuckles. "Come on; it's getting late. Let's go to bed."

Stiles grins and waggles his eyebrows. "Best idea you've had all day."

Derek snorts. "Did you forget we're in a house full of werewolves? There's only so much we could do in terms of soundproofing."

Stiles pulls a face. "Gross," he says. "Clothed spooning it is."

* * *

The next week is spent with the rest of the Hale pack; both Derek and Stiles hanging out with everyone, but the more time Derek spends with his family, the more he comes to realize that they're not pack-- not anymore. They his family, and always will be, but his lack is now the McCall pack.

So, one night shortly after dinner, he asks Stiles to accompany him to meet with his mother; when they are admitted to the study, Derek doesn't waste any time before announcing, "I want to switch packs."

Talia raises an eyebrow, while Stiles just gapes at him. "Is that so?" she asks, not unkindly. "Are you sure about this, Derek?"

Derek nods. "I'm sure. You're my family, but... the McCall pack feels like pack now. It's not just separation.

Talia smiles. "I thought as much," she says, turning to Stiles. "Will your pack accept him?"

"Absolutely!" Stiles says quickly. "Derek is one of us, even I can feel it."

Derek offers Stiles a smile before turning back to his mother. "Will you allow me to move?" he asks respectfully.

"Of course," Talia says warmly. "I would like to meet this new alpha of yours at some point, but that doesn't have to be right away. Give yourself some time to settle in."

Derek smiles, relieved, and hugs Talia. "Thank you," he says sincerely.

"It's not like I didn't know," Talia says, hugging back. "You'll always be my son, but I couldn't be your alpha forever."

* * *

Derek and Stiles go back to Beacon Hills a few days later; they have to fly again, but this time Derek at least manages to refrain from breaking his armrest. Allison picks them up from the airport, driving them to Derek's apartment. Nothing much happened while they were gone, apparently, besides a couple of pixies getting drunk in the Preserve; luckily they were easily persuaded to take their partying somewhere else.

When Allison drops them off at Derek's apartment, Derek is the first to break the silence that falls. "So, I guess we need to tell Scott about me wanting to transfer packs."

"We've got time," Stiles says, watching Derek closely. "I'm pretty sure he already knows, what with you coming back and all. There's no rush."

Derek takes a breath, and nods. "Yeah, okay, you're right," he concedes. "But, there is something I wanted to say to you."

"Can't it wait?" Stiles asks. "We're alone for the first time all week..."

"This won't take long, I promise," Derek answers, reaching out to take Stiles's hands in his. "I just wanted to say-- I'm sorry, for how I acted at the symposium, and when I first came here. I really thought that the only way for a pack to survive was the way that my pack-- my old pack-- had done for generations, and I acted like a jackass. So, I'm sorry."

Stiles looks at Derek for a long moment, his eyes wide and his lips parted in surprise. "I never thought you'd say that," he says at last. "But it's not necessary. We were both really wrong, but I think we know better now. I definitely do. So, I'm sorry for the way I behaved, too."

Derek smiles softly, leaning in for a kiss. "So we just keep moving forward, huh?"

"I think so," Stiles says, smiling back.

Derek's smile widens, and he leans in for a kiss. "Good," he murmurs. "Now how about we move forward to the bedroom?"

"God, yes," Stiles groans, sliding a hand into Derek's hair to bring their mouths crashing together - just as the door to Derek's apartment crashes open.

"Oh, I don't need to see that!" Scott whines.

Derek takes his time pulling away from Stiles just to be contrary, and then takes a moment to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Scott," he says with forced cheerfulness. "What a lovely surprise."

"Please, don't," Scott begs. "You can defile my best friend later. First you can tell me why you're back."

"I'm here as a spy for the Hale pack," Derek answers dryly. "Why do you think I'm here?

Scott pulls a face. "I _know_ why you're here," he says, "but don't you need to tell me? Like officially? So we can hug and get it over with?"

"You want to hug Derek?" Stiles asks.

Scott glares at him. "Not really. He smells like he wants to have sex."

"Well, I could probably fix that if you'd give us ten--"

"Stiles, please!"

"You could've waited for me to ask to see you," Derek points out. "But fine: I came back because I wish to officially join your pack."

Scott grins. "Great," he says. "I knew you would. Welcome aboard, or whatever." He claps Derek on the shoulder and then proceeds to walk straight past both of them to flop down onto the sofa.

"Scott, what are you doing?" Stiles hisses. "We were kind of in the middle of something."

"I know, and it's gross," Scott says cheerfully. "You should stop."

" _What_?"

"Why should we stop?" Derek asks, a bit incredulous. "We couldn't do anything while we were in Washington because we were in a house full of werewolves."

"Well, there's a werewolf in your house now," Scott points out.

"One that has no business here," Stiles argues. "You've got what you came for, Derek's in the pack, so why are you hanging around?"

Scott sighs. "Look, if Derek's going to be a part of the pack now, I'm not sure that you two should be spending so much time together."

"Again, I ask _what_?"

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. "Scott. You are aware that Stiles and I are dating, right? We've been dating for a while now."

"A relationship born of mutual hatred and a desire to get in each other's pants is not a healthy relationship," Scott informs them placidly.

"And how would you know?" Stiles demands.

Scott rolls his eyes. "I'm only saying this because I care about both of you and the wellbeing of the pack," he says, "but you two are not good for each other. You like to fight, and you like to fuck--" Stiles winces. "--but can you really see yourselves settling down together? Starting a family? Because that's the kind of relationship that this pack needs. If you two blow up somewhere down the line, it's going to cause a lot of damage to everyone around you."

Derek glances to Stiles, and answers Scott without looking away. "Yes, I can. We didn't get into this relationship because we liked the sex, and if that was the only reason for it, we would've broken up a while ago, because we haven't had sex since just after I first came to Beacon Hills. I'm in this for the long haul."

Stiles' smile is small but hopeful. "Yeah?" he asks, the word barely more than a whisper.

Derek nods. "Yeah," he confirms.

Stiles' smile gets wider. "Me too," he confesses - and then the moment is broken when Scott jumps up and smacks a wet kiss onto Stiles' cheek. "What the _fuck_ , man?"

"I knew you could do it," Scott says, beaming. "Awesome! I'm so happy for you!"

Derek looks from one to the other in confusion. "Okay, you've lost me."

"You're not the only one," Stiles says, massaging his temples.

"You guys have been destined for each other from the moment you met!" Scott says, excited. "It took me a while to see it, and I wasn't sure you two would _ever_ see it. So I had to make sure that you were on the right track. It really would destroy the pack if you broke up, you know. They all like you both too much."

Derek sighs. "Well, you've seen for yourself that we have no intentions of splitting up, and you have officially been told why I came back, so is there anything else?"

"Umm, no, I guess not," Scott says, still grinning. "I'll get out of your hair."

" _Thank_ you," Derek says fervently.

Derek hesitates before saying, "We were going to the bedroom, but..." He sighs. "Scott kinda... ruined the mood."

Stiles pulls a face. "Are you serious?" he asks, glancing pointedly at Derek's crotch. "Not even a flicker of interest?"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Derek apologizes, blushing.

Stiles sighs. "Fine," he says. "But you're paying for pizza."

Derek chuckles. "Fair enough."

* * *

Another few weeks pass, and nothing changes. Derek's presence at pack meetings has become so much of a norm that his officially joining the pack goes pretty much unnoticed, except for a small party that not even the humans get drunk during because they all have to get up for work in the morning. Stiles has been spending a lot of time with Derek, of course, and Derek comes over for dinner with him and the sheriff every Sunday, and it's nice, it really is. Except that Derek hasn't touched him once since that night months ago when Derek first came to Beacon Hills.

They've kissed, sure, and Derek always makes sure that they can sit together during movie nights, one arm slung around Stiles' shoulders, pulling him in close - but it never goes any further than that. Stiles wants more, and he thinks Derek does too, but the longer they go without anything more heated than a prolonged make-out session, the more Stiles begins to doubt. So he does the only sensible thing - he brings it up.

"Why won't you have sex with me?" he asks one night when they're having dinner together in Derek's apartment, completely talking over Derek who may or may not still be in the middle of a story about something funny that happened at work today. Stiles stopped listening as soon as Derek mentioned a cute yet infuriating colleague who has come up before, largely because he immediately began to wonder if Derek would rather be boning _her_ instead.

Derek blinks at the sudden question. "What?"

Stiles ducks his head, embarrassed, but soldiers on. "We haven't slept together since you came to Beacon Hills, the first time. Every time we get close, something comes up. You're not in the mood, or you're hungry, or it's late and I should get home. Do you not want me anymore?"

"No, of course I still want you!" Derek protests. "I just--" Derek sighs, then confesses, "I'm just afraid it won't be as good as when we hated each other - that you won't enjoy it as much."

Stiles opens and closes his mouth a few times, shocked. He has to admit that he's been thinking the same thing, worried that the spark of heat and passion that had them tearing at each other's clothes in the middle of a fight will have died now that things have quietened down between them. "The hate sex was amazing," he concedes. "But..." He doesn't want to say, _making love might be even better_ , because he's not a freaking girl, so instead he opens his mouth and says, "Maybe if you piss me off?" He regrets it immediately.

Derek frowns. "I don't want to have sex with you just when we're pissed at each other," he says, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Stiles winces and looks down. "I don't, either," he says. "I don't know why I said that."

Derek sighs. "I do want to have sex with you," he reassures Stiles.

"You just don't think it'll be any good."

"I'm worried it won't be _as_ good," Derek corrects. "That I won't be."

Stiles sighs. "I'm pretty sure that won't be an issue," he says, choosing his words carefully. "I-- I care about you, and I want to be with you, in all the ways."

"I care about you, too-- a lot. More than I've cared about any other partner," Derek confesses. "I want to be with you, too."

Stiles reaches across the table and takes Derek's hand. "Then when it happens, it'll be good. Different, maybe, but good."

* * *

Things get better between them after that. They still haven't had sex, but they're being more honest with each other and everything feels a lot more comfortable. Stiles starts staying over at Derek's some nights, and he's sure that when the time's right and they're both ready, things will progress naturally.

He's sleeping in Derek's bed when the call comes through, his head pillowed comfortably against Derek's bare shoulder. Derek disturbs him to answer the call, and when it's over Stiles rolls straight back into his arms, nuzzles sleepily at his throat. "Who was it?" he asks, voice somewhat muffled. "S'it important?"

"Scott," Derek says, tossing the phone to the nightstand. "Emergency pack meeting; come on."

"Did he say what's happening?" Stiles asks as he gets out of bed.

"He said he'd explain everything when we got there, but apparently my mom called him with a warning about a threat," Derek answers, flicking the other lights on so they could see better as they got dressed.

Stiles curses softly and makes sure to hurry.

* * *

They meet in the Preserve, and it's the dead of night so Stiles knows it's serious. He's wrapped up in a sweater and two scarves beneath his coat but he still has to huddle under Derek's arm for warmth while Scott tells them what's going on.

"There's an alpha headed this way," he says without preamble. "He wants to challenge me for the territory."

"That doesn't explain why we're out here freezing our asses off," Lydia snaps, irritated.

"Talia's information came a little late," Scott explains. "The alpha should be here tonight."

"Fuck," Derek mutters, and then adds, louder, "What did she know about it?"

"Not much," Scott answers with a grimace. "Just that he's strong. Stiles?"

"I'll strengthen the wards," Stiles says, nodding. "Give them everything I've got."

Derek frowns. "That might not be enough," he muses.

Allison lifts her duffel bag. "I've got plenty of mundane weapons to back up Stiles's magical ones, and you wolves have your teeth and claws."

"We'll be fine," Stiles agrees, looking up at Derek. "I'm gonna need to go deeper into the woods, closer to the boundary. Come with me?"

"Of course," Derek says instantly. He glances at Scott. "I've got a bad feeling about this; how worried did my mother seem?"

"She got us all out of bed at three o'clock in the morning," Scott points out. "What do you think?"

Stiles shudders. "All the more reason to get to work," he says. "Everyone should spread out along the boundary line."

Scott nodds. "Good idea. Allison and Lydia, make sure you're paired up with a wolf. The rest of you, howl if you see anything and we'll all come to you."

The rest of the pack nodd, and Derek takes Stiles's hand, letting the emissary lead the way as they split up.

* * *

They find a quiet spot close to the boundary, and Stiles settles down on the forest floor, grounding himself as he begins to work his magic. He stays true to his word to Scott, and gives the wards everything he possibly can. These will not be the same wards that dealt with that omega when Derek first came to town; they won't just keep the alpha out, they'll pretty much _take_ him out. It's tiring work, though, and he's kind of relieved when someone howls almost an hour later. "Do we have company?" he asks Derek, looking over.

Derek, who's been on high alert the whole time, tunes in to the east, where the howl originated. "It's Isaac," he says after a moment. "Everyone's heading towards him, he's about two hundred yards out. I don't know about anything beyond him."

Stiles nods, groaning as he gets to his feet. "There's nothing else I can do to the wards; they should knock him into next week," he says, grinning. "Let's go."

Derek keeps pace with Stiles as they meet up with the rest of the pack; the closer they get, the farther Derek can hear past the wards. When they're maybe fifty yards away from the pack, Derek picks up the sounds of the rogue alpha closing in. "He's getting closer," he mutters, picking up his pace slightly.

"Well then let's get moving," Stiles says, speeding up as well. "I want to see these babies in action."

By the time they reach Isaac and the others, the alpha is in sight - and _holy shit_. "He's built like a brick shithouse," Erica says nervously, voicing everyone's thoughts, but Stiles only grins.

"This should be funny."

"Now I see why Mom was worried," Derek says, edging closer to Stiles protectively. "You sure your wards will hold?"

Stiles snorts. "Positive. You wait and see."

They don't have to wait for long. Unlike the omega, the alpha doesn't bother with unnecessary small talk; after regarding the pack for a few moments, he roars, and charges.

"Here we go," Stiles mutters, seconds before the alpha collides with the wards with an almighty _crash_. There's a flash of light, pulses of magic spidering out from the point of impact to reinforce the wards and give the alpha the biggest shock of his life. For a couple of seconds, everything beyond the barrier is eclipsed from view, and when the wards clear again the pack is treated to a most unexpected sight. The alpha, who should have been knocked stone-cold unconscious, is stumbling back, shaking himself, and preparing to charge again. "What the _fuck_?"

Derek actually steps in front of Stiles now. "He's really fucking strong; you got anything else you can put in them?

"I'm working on it," Stiles says through gritted teeth, sweat already beading on his brow as he pours his magic back into the wards. He's still at it when the alpha collides with the barrier again, and this time he staggers back with the force of it. "This fucker," Stiles breathes.

"Stiles," Scott calls. "What do we do?"

" _Nothing_ ," Stiles snaps back. "They'll hold." But the alpha has taken to beating against the barrier with his fists, and Stiles isn't so sure anymore.

"Stiles, we need a back-up plan," Derek snaps.

"I _am_ the back-up plan," Stiles snarls back. "I've got this, Derek, I swear."

He does not have this. Moments later, the alpha punches straight through Stiles' wards, and he cries out in dismay as the alpha storms into their territory, leaving the barrier to shatter behind him.

Without missing a beat, Stiles throws up a block, which the alpha bats out of the way as though it were made out of tissue paper.

"Stiles!" Scott cries, but Stiles ignores him, throwing up block after block after block. He doesn't notice the blood trickling from his nose.

Derek growls, but refuses to leave Stiles's side. "Scott, Lydia, Allison-- _do something_!" he snarls, shifting and baring his teeth at the alpha.

" _No_!" Stiles shouts. He's sweating freely now and breathing hard, but he refuses to be cowed by this _assshole_. "I've protected this town for years, and I'm not going to stop now!" When the alpha pushes through yet another of his blocks, Stiles snaps. Remembering the display he'd put on for Cora and Phillip in Washington, he sends a roaring ball of fire flying at the alpha. It engulfs him in seconds, and his screams are music to Stiles' ears, but he isn't finished yet. Moments later ice begins to form around the fire, trapping it and the alpha inside a frozen cage over six inches thick.

What Stiles doesn't notice is the blood dripping down his face. "Stiles, _stop_!" Derek shouts, jumping in front of Stiles and grabbing the human's shoulders, shaking him. "You're hurting yourself, and you'll end up _killing_ yourself if you don't stop!"

"Derek, it's done, it's _over_ , look!" Stiles grabs Derek's shoulder and shoves him around, pointing toward where the alpha had been standing. The entire pack follows their gazes, and there's a moment of awed silence as they all watch the fire continue to blaze inside the ice. Then, to their horror, the ice shatters - and the alpha emerges, unharmed. "That... that isn't possible," Stiles whispers, seconds before his world goes black.

Derek barely manages to turn and catch Stiles before he hits the ground, and he backs away, trying to get Stiles away from the danger.

"Keep his attention!" Lydia snaps, shoving Isaac and Boyd forward-- the two betas readily leap on the alpha. "There's no way he just withstood Stiles's magic, he's got to have help."

"There!" Allison cries, pointing. "He's wearing an amulet; it could be protecting him."

The amulet in question is almost buried in the alpha's chest-- it'll be a difficult shot, even for Allison. "It needs to go," Lydia says firmly. "It might also be what's making him so big."

Allison notches an arrow and takes aim. "Isaac, Boyd!" she yells. "Get out of the way!"

The betas duck just as Allison looses the arrow-- it flies straight and true, right to the amulet, which shatters when the arrow hits it. The alpha howls in rage-- and just a touch of fear. With the amulet gone, he has no more protection, and is just a normal wolf, easily chased off. Derek joins in the chase, furious that his mate was hurt-- even indirectly-- by this bastard. Unfortunately his anger makes him reckless, and he doesn't dodge a swipe of the alpha's claws; they cut through his shirt easily, gouging his stomach. It'll heal, but it hurts like a bitch.

Once the alpha is well and truly gone, Derek makes his way back to Stiles's side, one arm wrapped around his stomach which is still bleeding sluggishly.

Stiles is still out cold, but Lydia is with him, and she gives Derek a weak smile. "He'll be okay," she promises. "I can help you get him to his car. Can you drive?"

Derek’s gaze doesn’t leave Stiles. "Yeah, I can drive."

Lydia eyes the blood still oozing from Derek's stomach. "Are you sure?"

"It's not as important as getting him to safety," Derek says dismissively.

Lydia sighs. "Fine. Come on, then."

* * *

Lydia sits in the back of the Jeep with Stiles' head on her lap while Derek gets them back to his apartment. Jackson is following in his own car so that she can get home, but as she'd told Derek, she wants to make sure they're both okay before she leaves. Derek is still bleeding when they arrive, so Jackson carries Stiles up to the apartment without protesting even once and lays him out on the couch. Lydia checks him over before approaching Derek. "Are you gonna let me take a look at that?" she asks quietly.

Derek considers refusing, but figures it'll be futile. So, he lifts up his shirt wordlessly, wincing a little as the fabric sticks to the dried blood around the edges of the slowly-closing wounds.

Lydia pokes and prods a little, but ultimately steps back with a sigh. "It's healing, slowly," she says. "Do you feel like you need stitches?"

Derek shakes his head. "It'll be fine. I've had worse."

"Okay." She looks over to Jackson, biting her lip. "We should probably get going. Stiles will be okay, he just exhausted himself out there."

Derek nods. "Thanks for coming back with us," he says, offering Lydia a smile. "And congrats on figuring out that guy had an amulet."

"That was Allison, remember?" Lydia says, smiling. "Call me tomorrow and let me know how you both are. If you don't, I'll kick down this door myself."

Derek chuckles. "I'll call," be promises.

"Good." Lydia and Jackson leave a few minutes later, and it's another half an hour before Stiles' eyes flutter open.

"...Derek?"

Derek's by Stiles's side instantly, taking the other's hand in his own. "Hey," he says softly, wincing as he pulled at the nearly-healed skin. "How you feeling?"

"Like I got hit with a brick," Stiles says roughly. "What happened?"

"You pushed yourself too hard," Derek answers, thumb stroking over the back of Stiles's hand. "You passed out."

Stiles' eyes widen as things come back to him in a rush. "The alpha," he says. "He was so strong, I couldn't-- Is everyone okay? Are you?"

"He had an amulet," Derek explains. "It was protecting him, making him stronger. Allison broke it and we ran him off. There were some injuries, but nothing that won't heal."

Stiles runs his gaze shrewdly over Derek's body, and immediately zeroes in on the blood still seeping through his shirt. "That looks bad," he says, sitting up. "Let me see."

Derek obligingly lifts his shirt. "It's not that bad."

Stiles' gaze flickers to the window and back. "Bad enough that it's dawn and you still haven't healed," he snarks. "But if you're okay, you can drive me back to the Preserve."

" _What_?" Derek spluttered. "You just woke up! No, I'm not driving you out to the Preserve!"

"The wards _shattered_ , Derek, you saw them," Stiles argues. "The town is unprotected; I need to put them back up."

"You can put them back up when I'm sure you're not gonna pass out on me again," Derek retorts. "I was hurt the worst; everyone else is probably keeping an eye out. The town can survive for another six or eight hours."

"That alpha clearly had help," Stiles argues. "What if he gets himself another amulet and comes back? I know the wards didn't hold him, I know that--" And he huffs, frustrated with his own failure. "--but they slowed him down, at least. We need them."

"Any wards you put up now, when you're exhausted, will be hasty and sloppy," Derek points out. "If you want wards that have a shot at holding him back _if_ he comes back, then you need to be at full strength."

"I'm _fine_ ," Stiles snaps. "It's you who needs rest."

"I'm not the one who passed out," Derek counters. "Besides, it's almost healed."

"Derek, I'm not leaving this town vulnerable so that you can go back out there when the alpha comes back and actually get yourself killed."

"And I'm not letting you go make yourself-- _and_ the town-- more vulnerable with sloppy wards," Derek insists.

"I have to do something!" Stiles cries. "Scott needs me!"

"Oh for the love of--" Derek grabs his phone and dials Lydia's number, putting her on speaker when she picks up. "Talk some sense into this stubborn idiot please."

" _I'm_ an idiot?" Stiles crows, completely ignoring the phone. "Who went off and got his insides ripped out tonight?"

"He hurt you!" Derek snaps. "You think I was just going to stay back after that?"

"That's ridiculous," Stiles snaps. "I was _fine_ , and if I wasn't, what good would you be to me _dead_?"

Derek growls in frustration. "I'm no healer; Lydia watched you while we ran the alpha off. He hurt _my mate_ , Stiles, you have to know what that does to the wolf!"

Stiles gapes at him for a long moment. "I'm-- I'm your _what_?"

A crackle of static comes over the speaker on Derek's phone as Lydia sighs. " _Boys_." Then the line goes dead.

Derek glares at his phone for a moment before turning it off and sighing. "You heard me: You're my mate."

"What does _that_ mean?" Stiles demands.

Derek stares at him, incredulous. "What do you think it means?"

Stiles knows exactly what it means, but he isn't sure he can believe it. He isn't sure he dares to. "And you were going to tell me _when_?"

Derek sighs. "I didn't even really realize until you passed out," he confesses.

"You're such an asshole," Stiles snarls, stalking into Derek's space.

"Well, you're a stubborn idiot, so we're even," Derek retorts, not backing down. 

Stiles doesn't even bother to answer; he just surges forwards and claims Derek's mouth in a bruising kiss.

* * *

The sex that follows is rough and claiming, each of them reassuring themselves and each other that they both survived, that they're both alive. The second time they have sex, it's slow and intense in a way that none of their previous times have been-- Derek calls it lovemaking in his head, but doesn't dare say it out loud. Afterwards, Derek traces patterns into Stiles's skin, watching how the tattoos seem to shift to follow his touch. "Your tattoos seem to move an awful lot," he muses. "Are they supposed to be that active?"

Stiles looks over his shoulder at the swirls of ink moving across his back and arms, chasing Derek's hand, and smiles. "They like you," he says simply.

Derek glances up at Stiles. "You make them sound sentient."

Stiles laughs. "They are, kind of," he says. "They're a part of me."

Derek smirks. "So they're kinda a reflection of what you're feeling?"

Stiles thinks about that for a moment. "If I say yes, will you find a way to hold it against me?"

"Probably," Derek says without hesitation, but his tone is teasing. "And probably even if you say no."

Stiles laughs. "It sounds like you already know the answer," he says. "They get restless if I'm restless, they're calm if I am; they even change colour sometimes. And right now..."

”Right now?" Derek prompts, drawing the tip of one claw between Stiles's shoulder blades and down his spine.

Stiles sighs and arches, chasing Derek's touch just like the tattoos are. "Right now they're telling you that I love you."

Derek freezes in shock. "You-- really? You love me?"

Stiles nods and rolls onto his side. All of the tattoos on his back surge round to his chest, trying to get as close to Derek as possible. "Yeah," he says softly, reaching out to brush his fingertips over Derek's abdomen as though he can still see the wound that healed hours ago. "I do."

Derek's mouth curves into a small, shy smile. "I love you, too."

Stiles smiles back and shuffles over until he can wriggle himself into Derek's arms. "The whole mates thing," he mumbles into Derek's chest. "It's true?"

Derek nods, wrapping his arms around Stiles. "It's true."

Stiles presses a soft kiss to the skin beneath his lips. "I think I like the sound of that."


End file.
